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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



SONGS IN THE NIGHT-WATCHES 



I 



/ ; 

5 



Songs in the Night- Watches 



From Voices Old and New 



COMPILED 



/ 



HELEN H. STRONG THOMPSON 



"And the night shall be filled with music** 



.<i^' 






OFr 191 



■I 



NEW YORK 
THE BAKER AND TAYLOR CO 

1888 






Copyright, 1888, 
By the baker AND TAYLOR CO. 



Press of J. J. Little & Co. 
Astor Place, New York. 



TO 

H. C. T. 

THE STEADFAST FRIEND 

WHO 

THESE MANY YEARS 

HAS WALKED BESIDE ME 

WITH A SONG 

THROUGH DARKEST NIGHT 




PREFACE. 

The nights of human experience are long, " Until 
the day-dawn and the day-star arise in (the) heart." 
Happy he who can say, " In the night His song shall be 
with me," and " I will praise His Name with a song," 
or, who " Instructed in Song," remembereth Him 
" who giveth songs in the night," and finds himself 
"Compassed with songs of deliverance." Then, 
verily, " Calling to remembrance (the) song in the 
night," " shall t/izs song be sung, — * Trust ye in the 
Lord forever ! ' " 

The heart may, indeed, sing its songs with the 
sadness of the nightingale, instead of the joyousness 
of the lark, through its nights of Darkness, Heavi- 
ness, Temptation, Humiliation, Poverty, Captivity, 
Fear, — even all through the " House of (its) Pilgrim- 
age " — it may sing its Song of Remembrance, with a 
tear in every note, through Sickness, Bereavement 
and Death, but "The Song of Songs," and "The 
New Song," will wipe out the tear. These can only 
be sung now, in imagination of heavenly choirs, 
chanting the praises of Him who is "the Light of 
the world." We may /tere 



viii JJrefate. 



But 



" Sing of His dying love, 

Sing of His rising power, 
Sing how He intercedes above, 
For those whose sins He bore." 

" There shall each raptured tongue 
His endless praise proclaim, 
And sweeter voices tune the song," 

than the most ravishing notes on earth. 

So when we speak of "The Song of Songs," and 
"The New Song," we know that we shall only tune 
the voice to these when the Night songs are past. 
The sweet singer of Israel does indeed say, " Sing 
unto the Lord a new song, for He hath done marvel- 
ous things " — meaning a song of deliverance ; also, 
" He hath put a new song in my mouth " (of praise), 
but St. John, from his vision in the Isle of Patmos, de- 
clared, " They sang as it were a new song before 
the throne,'' . . . but no man could learn that 
song save they which were redeemed from death ! 
Then, dawns 

" That light which hath no morning, 
That knows nor moon nor sun. 
The light so new and golden 
The light that is but One ! " 



In the selection of these songs, the highest stand- 
ard of literary excellence has not been considered to 
the exclusion of those which have the merit of reach- 
ing the popular heart ; the object being to pierce 
with a joyous note the darkness of the night. 



J)reface. ix 



The writer returns cordial thanks to the publishers 
and authors of copyrighted poems, who have kindly 
permitted their use. A few which have been gath- 
ered as waifs, are necessarily used without special 
authority. Particular acknowledgments are due to 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers, Randolph & Co., Ticknor 
& Co., Robert Carter, James Miller, Charles H. 
Adams, Appleton & Co., and more especially to 
Charles Scribner's Sons, for extracts from Dr. J. G. 
Holland's " Bitter-Sweet," and to Messrs. Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co., for quotations from Longfellow, Emer- 
son, Whit' ier. Holmes, Stedman, Miss Phelps, Mrs. 
Whitney, Phoebe and Alice Cary, and many others, 
all of whom, by their courtesy, have greatly aided 
the writer, to the use of voices old and new, in this 
collection of songs. 

H. H. S. T. 





INTRODUCTION. 



It is the dark mysteries of life which try our faith. 
But there are no absolute mysteries in the world. 
Mysteries are such only in their relation to our 
ignorance. To God they are as open as the light. 
Since he understands them they are explicable. We 
do not need to know the explanation ; to know that 
there is one is enough. " Thou knowest not now, 
but thou shalt know hereafter." There is much that 
we do not understand now, but a Christian does not 
need to understand. He can trust where he cannot 
see. Those who trust God only so far as they can 
see, do not trust him at all. Faith, like the night- 
blooming cereus, flowers in darkness. Night reveals 
ten thousand suns, the day but one. And I imagine 
that earth is as much more beautiful to heaven by 
night as heaven is to earth. When the darkness of 
war or pestilence or some other great calamity settles 
down on men, the angels count new stars in earth. 

" Songs in the night " are inspired by faith in 
God. We must believe that God is good, and if all 
good and almighty, surely he will bring good out of 



xii Sntrobtjclion. 



evil. It is the mistake both of a coarse animalism 
and of a refined sensuality, of barbarism and of a 
voluptuous civilization, to esteem pain the greatest 
evil and pleasure the highest good. But in God's 
estimate they are of small account compared with 
character, which is essentially precious. Its value is 
not relative but absolute. Its glory is divine and 
priceless. Too great a price in needful suffering, 
therefore, cannot be paid for it. Pain is not, like 
sin, essential evil. It may be made the means of 
immeasurable good, and hence its infliction is quite 
consistent with infinite goodness and infinite tender- 
ness. Indeed, in perfecting character, sorrow seems 
to be essential to its highest exaltation and beauty — 
•* perfect through suffering." 

Sorrow is calculated to lead us into a close and 
peculiar fellowship with God. As it is our highest 
honor that we are capable of entering into such fel- 
lowship, so our highest blessedness is realized in its 
experience. Fenelon said, " He who has God has all 
things, and he who is without God has nothing." 
God would fain give us all things by giving us him- 
self. He would have us share his blessedness by 
making us partakers of his likeness. The great 
object of our creation and of all our discipline is to 
lift us up into this high fellowship with God. 

Now sorrow often drives us to him. When pros- 
perous and successful, when our affections are satis- 
fied and our will is executed, we feel sufficient unto 
ourselves. But when earthly props fall away, when 



3(ntr0bticti0n. xiii 



bereavement comes and we wake every morning to 
a fresh sorrow, when we stagger under some great 
heart burden, then, learning our own weakness and 
the insufficiency of every earthly stay, we are, as it 
were, driven to God. We pour out our soul to him 
so constantly that we form a habit of communion, 
and have such a consciousness of his presence, such 
a sense of exaltation in his fellowship that we find a 
blessedness greater than our sorrow. Then we 
understand that thought of Carlyle's, that man can 
forego happiness if he wins blessedness. 

David says, " Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort 
me.'' In human experience, as in the psalm, God's 
staff accompanies his rod. And David says, " They 
comfort me." It is possible to get comfort even 
from the rod. Again the psalmist says, ** Before I 
was afflicted T went astray ; but now have I kept 
thy word." When he sees the fruit which his sorrow 
has borne, he can exclaim, "It is good for me that I 
have been afflicted." Will not sufficient faith in 
God's love and in his power to bring good out of 
evil enable us to say, " It is good for me that I am 
afflicted?" Then with Paul we " glory in tribula- 
tions," and there rises a song in the night, though 
the feet be fast in the stocks. 

This great and precious truth — the issue of good 
out of evil or seeming evil — finds its most perfect 
illustration in the cross of Christ, the central fact of 
the Bible and of all history. It is very difficult for us 
to disassociate the cross from the meaning which has 



xiv Sntrobuction, 



gathered to it during- these eighteen Christian cen- 
turies. It is associated with that which is deepest in 
our Christian experience and most sacred in our relig- 
ious feeling. It has entered into art and architecture. 
It has become the most beautiful and significant of all 
symbols. But to the ancient Jew and Roman it was 
hideous and only hideous. It meant to him all that 
the gallows means to us. What would we think, if 
we saw a gallows on a church, or one within 
wreathed with flowers ? What of a golden gallows 
set with diamonds and worn as an ornament ? Thus 
would our uses of the symbol of the cross appear to 
ancient eyes before the offering of the world's great 
sacrifice transformed the cross into the world's great 
altar. 

But that instrument of bodily torture and death 
was made to minister to spiritual peace and life. 
That old time emblem of shame has become the 
Christian's glory, and the death agonies of the cross 
were the birth pangs of a new life in the world. Our 
crosses are capable of a like transformation ; for they 
are among the "all things" which w^e know "work 
together for good to them that love God." To him 
who has this confidence no night-watches need be 
songless. 

The books, the poems that move us deeply spring 
from deep experiences. The pearls, which in this 
volume are strung upon the editor's appropriate and 
beautiful thread of thought, came no doubt from 
deep, dark waters. In their selection the editor has 



Sittrcbttction. 



XV 



been governed not simply by the dictates of a culti- 
vated taste, which Mr. Lowell calls '* the conscience 
of the mind,** but also by an instinct of the heart, a 
profound and intelligent sympathy with suffering 
which can come only from its long experience. 
These "songs in the night," having served to cheer 
the darkness in which they were gathered, are sent 
forth in the hope that they may bring faith and 
courage to some who sit in the shadow. 

JosiAH Strong. 




SONGS IN THE NIGHT-WATCHES. 



PAGE 

I. Songs in Darkness 7 

II. Songs in Heaviness 41 

III. Songs in Temptation 63 

IV. Songs in Humiliation 79 

V. Songs in Poverty 97 

VI. Songs in Captivity in 

VII. Songs in Fear 125 

VIII. Songs in " The House of My Pilgrimage." 141 

IX. Songs of Remembrance i8g 

X. Songs in Sickness . 203 

XI. Songs in Bereavement 227 

XII. Songs in Death 257 

t *' The Song of Songs " 281 

XIII. \ AND 

( *' The New Song." 286 




INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Adams, E. E., i68. 
A. J. S., io6. 
Alford, Dean, 133. 
A. M., 13. 
Andrews, 260. 
Angelus, Silesius, 167. 
Arnold, Edwin, 130, 22g. 

Bailey, 85. 

Baker, Ella M., 134. 

Barbauld, Mrs., 274. 

Barr, Amelia E., 45, 143, 191. 

Bassi, Ugo, 222. 

Bates, Charlotte Fiske, 139. 

Bennett, Adelaide George, 24, 

26, 48, 54. 
''■ B. M.'' 4, 1^4, 267. 
Bonar, Horatius, 45, 59, 68, 92. 
Bourdillon, F. W., 194. 
Bowring, 265. 

Boyce, Laura B., 66, 85, 104, 211. 
Bradley, Mary, 27. 
Browne, Sir Thomas, 163. 
Browning, E. B., 43, 104, 105, 113, 
_ 235. 

Bryant, 86, 224. 
Buckham, James, 117. 
Burbidge, Thomas, 18. 
Burroughs, John, 148. 
Burton, Henry, 119. 
Butler, Frances Kemble, 55, 267. 
Byron, 120. 

Campbell, Helen, 216. 
Carr, Laura Garland, 164. 
Cary, Alice, 27, 167, 200, 250, 254, 

259, 268, 277. 
Cary, Phoebe, 39, 75, 233, 240, 253, 
276. 



Charles, Mrs., 45. 
Chase, Harriet, 165. 
Chrisholm, William Byrd, 101. 
Clarke, Sara J., 128. 
Clemmer, Mary, 207. 
Cochrane, W. R., 47. 
Coolidge, Susan, 21, 39, 53, 148. 
Cowper, 103, 118. 
Crashaw, Richard, 273. 
Crofts, G. W., 270. 

Donne, Bishop, 137. 
Dorr, Julia C. R., 232. 
Duffield, Samuel, 210. 
Duke of Brunswick, 67. 

Emerson, 144. 

Faber, 84. 

Fletcher, Josiah Moody, 100, 144. 

Fouqu^, 260. 

French, Hayes C, 33. 

Gale, Ada, 116. 
Gannett, William C, 22, 169. 
Gerhardt, Paul, 21, 108, 238. 
Gladden, Washington, 131. 
Glyndon, Howard, 146. 
Grange, Olrig, 82. 
Gray, David, 199. 
Grisson, Arthur C^ 338. 
Griswold, Hattie Tyng, 254. 
Grover, Florence, 184. 
Gurney, 88, 275. 
Guyon^ Madam, 114. 
G. Z. (j., 219. 

Hamilton, Eliza Mary, 249. 
Harte, Bret, 9. 



XX 



3nbe% of ^ntl}orG. 



Havergal, Frances Ridley, 93. 
Heermann, Johann, 67. 
Herbert, George, 192. 
Holland, J. G., 38, 65, 77, 211, 

279. 
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 202. 
Hopkins, Edwin S., 61. 
Hugo, Victor, 130. 

Ingelow, Jean, 74, 192, 246. 

Jackson, Helen (H. H.), 156, 255. 

J. H. M., 161. 

Johnson, Mrs. Herrick, 152. 

Keats, 49. 

Keene, Mrs. Luther, 109. 

Kimball, Harriet McEwen, 91, 

Larcom, Lucy, 12. 

Leigh ton, Archbishop, 264. 

Longfellow, 10, 17, 52, 74, 87, 115, 

118, 128, 179, 186, 198, 242. 
Louis, Alfred H., 15, 
Lowell, 106. 
Lyte, H. F., 72, 129. 



Mabel, 93, 161. 
MacCarthy, 100. 
MacDonald, George, 3, 81, 170. 
Macduff, 128. 
Mace, Frances L., 13, 275. 
Marperger, 66. 
Meredith, Owen, 205. 
Miller, A. P., 28, 49, 122, 193, 197. 
Miller, Emily Huntingdon. 2^7. 
Mills, Mrs. L. S., 32. 
Montgomery, James, 263. 
Moore, Thomas, 94. 
More Henry, 238. 
Moulton, Louise Chandler, 172. 
Mulock, Miss, 102, 213, 217, 223,' 
265, 273. 

Newman, George, 133. 

Ordronnaux, John, 68. 
Osgood, Frances S., 105. 

eale Rembrandt, 17. 
ck, Julia D., 163. 
Phelps, Elisabeth Stuart, 252. 



Poole, Hester M., 187. 
Pope, Alexander, 269. 
Preston, Margaret /., 212. 
Proctor, Adelaide, 96, 184. 
Proctor, Edna Dean, 244. 

Rand, Edward Dean, 13. 
Randolph, A. D. F., 20, 151, 197, 

233- 
R. W. M., 15. 
Ryan, Father, 176. 

Sangster, Margaret E., 50, 150, 

o t.^^^,', '72, 179,247. 
Schmolke, 88, 106, 275. 
Shakespeare, 49, 75. 
Smith, Alexander, 81. 
Spencer, Edmund, 77. 
Stedman, Edmund C, 29. 
Stilling, Heinrich, 56. 
Stryker, M. Woolsey, 66^ 99. 
Sutphen, Joseph W., 83. 
Sutton, Henry Septimus, 23, 37, 
60, 201. 

Tarbov, Increase N., 266. 
Temple, Anna, 55. 
Thompson, Alexander R., 10. 
Tickell, 266. 
Trench, 46. 

Vaughan, Henry, 11. 
Vernon, Nettie, 29. 

Waring, Anna Letitia, 130. 
Weiss, Susan Archer, 261. 
Weitzel, S. W., 14. 
Werner, A., 87, 121. 
Wesley, Charles, 137. 
Wheeler, Ella, 56, 208. 
Whitney, Mrs. A. D. T., 11, 2c, 

„^^35j37, 115, 149. 

Whittier, 138, 195, 206, 235, 243, 

270. 
Williams, Sarah, 23. 
Willis, N. P., 255. 
Winkler, 18. 
Wordsworth, 195. 
Worthen, Augusta Harvey, 69. 

Zihn, 72. 




SONGS IN 
THE NIGHT-PVATCHES. 




" And the night shall be filled with music.''* 

" All inmost things naturally utter themselves 
i7i song. The meaning of song goes deep.'' 

" O sing / sing away / sing away I 
Sing, Spirit, who knowest Joy's Giver — 
Sing on, by time's Runaway River ! " 

" O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear 
What man has borjte before ! " 




Hark ! the stars are talking 
With human tone and tongue. 



" Courage ! for life is hasting 

To endless life away. 
The inner fire unwasti^ig 

Transfigures thy dull clay I " 
See the stars melting, siiiki^ig 

In life-wine, golden bright ! 
We, of their splendor drinking 

Shall grow to stars of light. 
Lost, lost^ are all our losses ; 

Love sets forever free : 
The full^ life heaves and tosses 

Like an eternal sea. 
One endless living story / 

One poe7n spread abroad ! 
And the sum of all our glory 

Is the coufitenance of God ! 

Geo. Macdonald. 



THE NIGHT-SERnCE. 

Bu^ who shall praise God in the night ? the Night \ 

That stretcheth mournful wings from shore to j 

shore, \ 

Till silent lie the singers of the world, \ 

Beneath the shadow. j 

// is the night, i 

And in the Temple of the Lord not made j 

By mortal hands, the lights are burning low \ 

Before the Altar. Clouds of darkness fill ' 

The vastness of the sacred aisles. The du7nb \ 

And breathless Spirit of the Night is here ; 

In all his power j no rtishing inighty wind \ 
Of organ harmonies is snu'cepiiig down 
The shadowy place. A few short hours ago 
And all the temple courts were thronged with those 

Who worshiped, and gave thanks, before they \ 

went ^ 

To take their rest. The7i 77ia7iy voices joined \ 

To sing the praise of God j but who shall bless J 
His 7ia7ne at 7nid7iight ? 

Lo ! a ba7id of pale ■ 
Yet joyful priests, do 77ii7iister arotmd 

The Altar, where the lights are biir7iing low \ 



^i}C ^i%i)t-Qcxmu. 



In the breathless night. Each grave brow wears 

the crown 
Of sorrow j and each heart is kept awake 
By its 0W71 restless pain, for these are they 
To whom the night-watch is appoijited. See ! 
They lift their hands and praise God in the night. 
Whilst we are sleeping, those to who?n the King 
Has measured out a cup of sorrow, sweet 
With His dear love, yet very hard to drink. 
Are waking in His Temple ; and the eyes 
That canfiot sleep for sorrow, or for paiji, 
Are lifted up to heaven j arid sweet, low songs 
Broken by patient tears, arise to God, 
Bless ye the Lord^ ye servants of the Lord I 
Which stand by night within His Holy Place 
To give Him worship ! Ye are priests to Him 
Afid minister around the Altar; pale. 
Yet joyful in the Night. 

The Priests must serve 

Each in his course; a7id we must stand in turn 

Awake with sorrow in the Temple dim. 

To bless the Lord by Night. We will not fear, 

When we are called at Midnight, by some stroke 

Of sudden pain to rise and minister 

Before the Lord. We, too, will bless His Na?ne 

In the solemn Night, and stretch out our hands to 

Hii7i / 

'*B. M." 




I. 



SONGS IN DARKNESS, 




S^ 



The sudden joys that out of darkness start, 
As flames from ashes. " 



*' The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the 
sun. The brightness of our life is gone. Shadows of 
evening fall around us, and the world seems but a dim 
reflection — itself a broader shadow. We look forward 
into the coming lonely night. The soul withdraws into 
itself. Then stars arise, and the night is holy." 



But Thou dost make the very night itself 
Brighter than day." 



*' In days of darkness were songs." 



** The woof of life is dark, but it is shot with a warp of 
gold." 




SONGS IN DARKNESS. 

" Only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness." 



NOT yet, O friend ! not yet : 
The patient stars 
Lean from their lattices content to wait : 

All is illusion till the morning bars 
Slip from the levels of the eastern gate. 

Night is too young, O friend ! day is too near, 
Wait for the day that maketh all things clear — ■ 
Not yet, O friend ! not yet. 

Not yet, O friend ! not yet: 

All is not true ; 
All is not ever as it seemeth now ; 

Soon shall the river take another blue. 
Soon dies yon light upon the mountain brow ; 

What lieth dark, O love ! bright day will fill ; 

Wait for thy morning, be it good or ill — 
Not yet, O love ! not yet. 

Bret Harth. 



lo gongs in SUarkness. 

WE see by night's sweet showing, 
Grandly revealed, 
What day concealed, 
Ten thousand streams of glory flowing. 
That never cease to flow: 
But only night can show 
What lavish light God is bestowing. 

Alexander R. Thompson, D.D. 



{HEARD the traihng garments of the Night j 

Sweep through her marble halls ! \ 

I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 
From the celestial walls ! 

I felt her presence, by its spell of might, j 

Stoop o'er me from above ; \ 

The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 
As of the one I love. 



From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 

My spirit drank repose ; 
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there- 

From those deep cisterns flows. 



ii 



Longfellow. 



/ 



Songs in ^Darkness. n 

A RAVELED rainbow overhead 
Lets down to Life its varying thread, — 
Love's blue, joy's gold, and fair between, 

Hope's shifting light of emerald green : j 

While either side, in deep relief, j 

A crimson Pain, a violet Grief ! I 

Would'st thou amid their gleaming hues j 

Clutch after those, and these refuse ? J 

Believe ! as thy beseeching eyes J 
Follow their lines and sound the skies, 

There, where the fadeless glories shine, ^ 

An unseen Angel, twists the twine. \ 

And be thou sure, what tint soe'er j 

The sunbeam's broken rays may w^ear, \ 

It needs them all^ that broad and white, j 

God's love may weave the perfect light. j 

Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. j 



DEAR night ! this world's defeat ; 
The stop to busy fools ; care's check and curb ; 
The day of spirits : my soul's calm retreat 

Which none disturb ! 
Christ's progress and his prayer-time ; j 

The hours to which high heaven doth chime. j 

i 
Were all my loud, evil days. 

Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent, \ 

\ 

J 



12 Songs in SDarkness. 

Whose peace but by some angel's wing or voice 

Is seldom rent ; 
Then I in heaven all the long year 
Would keep and never wander here. 

There is in God, some say, 

A deep but dazzling darkness ; as men here 

Say it is late and dusky, because they 

See not all clear. 
Oh for that night ! where I in Him 
Might live invisible and dim ! 

Henry Vaughan, 162 i. 



SPEAK to us out of midnight's heart, 
Thou who forever sleepless art ! 
The thoughts of Night are still and deep ; 
She doth thy holiest secrets keep. 

The voices of the Day perplex ; 
Her crossing lights mislead and vex ; 
We trust ourselves to find thy way, 
Or, proudly free, prefer to stray. 

The Night brings dewfall, still and sweet, 
Soft shadows fold us to thy feet ; 
Thy whisper in the dark we hear : 
"Soul, cling to me ! none else is near." 

Lucy Larcom, in "January.' 



Songs in SDarkness. 13 

THE birds have hushed their chorus ; 
Stars, through the twilight soft, 
Will soon be glimmering o'er us ; — 

The moon's aloft. 
Hand in hand, let us hold together. 
Through the dark and starlit weather. 

The little flowers are sleeping ; 

The sun is out of sight. 
God have us in his keeping 

All through the night ! 
To-morrow let us fare together, 
Still onward through the changing weather. 

A. M., IN *'The Quiver." 



o 



VER us, patient and changeless and far 
Shines eternity's star ! 

Francis L. Mace. 



LO ! the marvelous contrast of shadow and light,— 
Of shadows that darken and lights that adorn, 
And after the day comes the shadowy night. 
And after the night come the splendors of morn. 



14 Songs in CBarkness. 

And raptures and sorrows through all the brief years 
Keep crossing to weave in the web of our life, 

Till another, the greatest of shadows appears, 
To hush into stillness the tumult and strife. 

O thou shadow of shadows, the darkest of all. 
Concealing what has been and what is to be, 

That liest on life and its joys like a pall, — 

Ah ! what is the splendor that lies behind thee ! 

Edward Dean Rand. 



NO evil ! But behold, how tempest-tost ! 
Storms beat unhindered on the good man's head. 
Heaven's lightnings shatter, or the early frost 

Falls on the flower he loves, and leaves it dead. 
No evil ? — in a world where sorrow sits 
Vigilant, jealous ; where a shadow flits 

Darkling beside each shape of happiness ? — 
Oh, deepest truth, most literal, tenderest ! 

There is no evil. Love is here to bless. 
Oh, wondrous transmutation ! In his hand 
Who gives, — by his supreme command, — 

The clay is turned to gold, the ill to good. 
The lightning is his messenger ; his frost 

Chills not the root : who knows God's fatherhood 
Knows he rides safe, however tempest-tossed. 
There is no darkness ; in love's light 'tis lost. 

S. W. Weitzel, 



Songs in ?jllarkne0s. 15 

UPON the sadness of the sea 
The sunset broods regretfully ; 
From the far lone spaces, slow 
Withdraws the wistful afterglow. 

So out ot life the splendor dies, 
So darken all the happy skies. 
So gathers twilight, cold and stern : 
But overhead the planets burn. 

And up the east another day, 
Shall chase the bitter dark away ; 
What though our eyes with tears be wet, 
The sunrise never failed us yet. 

The blues of dawn may yet restore 
Our light and hope and joy once more. 
Sad soul, take comfort, nor forget 
That sunrise never failed us yet. 

R. W. M. 



KNOWN only, only to God, and the night, and the 
stars and me : 

Prophetic, jubilant song, 
Smiting the rock-bound hours, till the waters of life 
flow free. 

And a soul on pinions strong, 



1 6 Songs in JEJarkness. 

Flieth afar, and hovers over the infinite sea 
Of Love and of Melody ; 
While the blind fates weave their nets 
And the world in sleep forgets. 

Known only, only to God, and me, and the night, and 
the stars : 

The beacon-fire of song, 
Flaming for guidance and hope while the storm- 
winds wage their wars, 

Balm for many a wrong, 
Dropping from healing wings on wounds of heart 
and brain, 

Quenching the bitter pain : 
Love-star that rises and sets 
While the world in sleep forgets. 

Known only, only to me, and God, and the stars, and 
the night : 

Dove that returns to my ark. 
Murmuring of grief-floods falling, of light beyond all 
light ; 

Voice that cleaveth the dark, 
Singing of earth become heaven, of distant hands 
that bless. 

Though they cannot caress ; 

While the world in sleep forgets. 

Alfred H. Louis. 



Songs in JDarkness. 17 



ROPING blindly in the darkness, 

,d^ 

Longfellow. 



Touch God's right hand in that darkness. 



O DON'T be sorrowful, darling ! 
Now, don't be sorrowful, pray ; 
For, taking the year together, my dear, 

There isn't more night than day. 
It's rainy weather, my loved one ; 

Time's wheels they heavily run ; 
But taking the year together, my dear, 
There isn't more cloud than sun. 



We're old folks now, companion, — 

Our heads they are growing gray; 
But taking the year all round, my dear. 

You always will find the May. 
We've had our May, my darling. 

And our roses, long ago; 
And the time of the year is come, my dear. 

For the long dark nights and the snow. 

But God is God, my faithful. 

Of night as well as of day; 
And we feel and know that we can go 

Wherever He leads the way. 
2 



i8 Songs in IDarkness. 

Ay, God of night, my darling ! 

Of the night of death so grim ; 
And the gate that from life leads out, good wife, 



Is the gate that leads to Him, 



Rembrandt Peale. 



If indeed 
'Tis given thee to perform so vast a task, 
Think not at all, think not, but kneel and ask ! 
O friend ! by thought was never creature freed 
From any sin, from any mortal need ; 
Be patient ! not by thought canst thou devise 
What course of life for thee is right and wise; 
It will be written up, and thou wilt read. 
Oft like a sudden pencil of rich light, 
Piercing the thickest umbrage of the wood, 
Will shoot, amidst our troubles infinite. 
The spirit's voice ; oft, like the balmy flood 
Of morn, surprise the universal night 
With glory, and make all things sweet and good. 

Thomas Burbidge. 



MY soul complaineth not, 
For she knows not pain nor fear, 
Clinging to her God in faith. 

Trusting though He slay her here. 
'Tis when flesh and blood repine, 
Sun of joy, Thou canst not shine. 

Winkler, 1713. 



00ngs in JDarkness. 19 

1 CANNOT see, with my small human sight, 
Why God should lead this way or that ; 
I only know that He hath said, "Child this the path," 
But I can trust. 

I know not why my path should be at times 
So straitly hedged, so strangely barred before, 
I only know God could keep wide the door ; 
But I can only trust. 

I find no answer : often when beset 
With questions fierce and subtle on my way, 
And often have but strength to faintly pray, 
But I can trust. 

I often wonder, as with trembling hand 
I cast the seed along the furrowed ground, 
If ripened fruit for God will there be found : 
But I can trust. 

I cannot know why suddenly the storm 
Should rage so fiercely round me in its wrath ; 
But this I know — God watches all my path — 
And I can trust. 

I may not draw aside the mystic veil 
That hides the unknown future from my sight ! 
Nor know if for me waits thedark or light ; 
But I can trust. 



20 Songs in lUarkness. 

I have no power to look across the tide^ 
To see while here the land beyond the river 
But this I know, I shall be God's forever; 
So I can trust. 



AH, long the storm, yet none the less 
Hid from the utmost reach of ill ; 
And singing in the wilderness 

Some small sweet hope, waits blithely still. 

Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. 



1 WOULD be joyful as my days go by ; 
Counting God's mercies to me. He who bore 
Life's heaviest cross is mine for evermore, 
And I who wait his coming, shall not I 

On his sure word rely ? 
And if sometimes the way be rough and steep, 
Be heavy for the grief he sends to me, 
So in the night-time I must weep. 
Let me remember these are things to be, 
. To work his blessed will until he come 
And take my hand, and lead me safely home. 

A. D. F. Randolph. 



Songs in Oarkn^ss. 21 

THROUGH black waves and stormy blast, 
Aixd out of the fog-wreath dense and dun, 
Guided and held, shall the vessel run, 
Gain the fair haven, night being past, 
And anchor in the sun. 

Susan Coolidge, 



UP ! Up ! the day is breaking, 
Say to thy cares, good-night ! 
Thy troubles from thee shaking. 
Like dreams in fresh daylight. 
Thou wearest not the crown 

Nor the best course can tell ; 
God sitteth on the throne, 
And guideth all things well. 

Paul Gerhardt, 



THE child leans on its mother's breast, 
Leaves there its care and sinks to rest ; 
The bird sits singing by her nest. 

And chants aloud 
Her trust in God, and so is blest 
'Neath darkest cloud. 



22 Songs in ^Darkness. 

The heart that trusts forever sings, 
For sunshine lights as on its wings, 
A well of joy within it springs, 

Come good or ill. 
Whatever to-day, to-morrow brings, 

It is God's will. 



RESTLESS, restless, speed we on ; 
Whither in the vast unknown ? 
Not to you and not to me 

Are the sealed orders shown ; 
But the Hand that built the road, 

And the Light that leads the feet 
And this inward restlessness 
Are such invitation sweet, 
That where I, no lo7iger see. 
Highway still must lead to thee. 

William C. Gannett. 



SILENCE and darkness, solitude and sorrow 
In combination ! Can I cheerful be ? 
And wherefore not ? Since I can voices borrow 
Society and light, and peace from Thee ! 



Bongs in JUarkness. 23 

I will not waste one breath of life in sighing; 

For other duties has life been given to me : 
Duties and self-devotion, daily dying 

Into a higher, better life with Thee. 

Anonymous. 



THE little flowers breathe sweetness out 
Through all the dewy night ; 
Should I more churlish be than they, 
And 'plain for constant light ? 

Sarah Williams. 



I HAVE a little trembling light, which still 
All tenderly I keep, and ever I will. 
I think it never wholly dies away; 
But oft it seems as if it could not stay, 
And I do strive to keep it if I may. 

Sometimes the wind-gusts push it sore aside : 
Then closely to my breast my light I hide, 
And for it make a tent of my two hands : 
And though it scarce might on the lamp abide, 
It soon recovers, and uprightly stands. 



24 Songs in ?Ilarkness. 

Sometimes it seems there is no flame at all; 
I look quite close, because it is so small: 
Then all for sorrow do I weep and sigh ; 
But Some One seems to listen when I cry, 
And the light burns up, and I know not why. 

.... Gh, do thou feed 
Thy light, that it burn ever ! . . . 

Henry Septimus Sutton, 1854. 



O BLACK and bitter night, 
Like that 'round Egypt furled 
When sorrow and affright 

Seized all the winged world ! 
A brooding, noisome blight 

Whose dark pall heavy hangs, 
Like a phantom in the night, — 
Strikes deep its cruel fangs 
In the heart's dungeon cell, 
Within whose crumbling shell 
The naked nerve doth dwell. 

Lone in those darksome mines 

My glimmering taper lamp 
No longer brightly shines ; 

Paled by the foul choke damp, 
Within these sunken caves. 

No resurrection dawn 
Shines o'er the blackened graves 

Of buried hopes forlorn. 



Songs in lHarknesfi. 25 

Dawn, o'er the mountain height, 
Thou, the diviner light, 
Come ! end this bitter night. 



How long, O God, how long 

Has mortal heart the power 
To bear this anguish strong ? 
Is this our earthly dower ? 
While we in bondage cry- 
Must this our portion be ? 
The unillumined sky, 
But mocks our misery. 
Earth doth but echoes throw, 
No light is here below, 
Deeper the shadows grow. 



Through blinding fog and mist, 

'Neath pulses throbbing so, 
One ear alone can list 

The undertone of woe. 
Is that one ear withdrawn, 

And do I grope alone. 
Like blinded Samson shorn, 
For the pillars of the throne ? 
Nay : though I tread with thee 
Bitter Gethsemane, 
Still wilt thou comfort me. 

Adelaide George Bennett. 



26 gongs in JUarkness. 

RISE up, sad one, and outward cast 
Thy sorrows, broadcast, o'er the vast 
Engulfing night. 'Twill soon be past. 
The waning moon, a faint, thin horn, 
Shows day must surely, quickly dawn. 
E'en now, the long twilight 
Emerges from the night, 
And slowly creeps away 
To join the opening day. 

Let Erebus thy sorrows keep 
Chained in the darkness of the deep ; 
They would thy soul in anguish steep. 
Cast, ere thy soul in sorrow sips, 
This bitter portion from thy lips. 

Like morning's radiant beams, 

The bright aurora streams 

From the low, northern sky, 

Toward the zenith high. 

* 
Like these bright rays, thou too shouldst rise h 

Toward the zenith of the skies, f 

As to the sun the eagle flies. \ 

Thy dwarfed experience leave alone, 
Thyself to nobler stature grown. 

Up ! wing thy eager flight. 

Till, far beyond the night. 

Beyond thy shadowy fears, 

The glorious sun appears. 

Adelaide George Bennett. 



Songs in lUarkness. 27 

AH me ! the ways of God with man, 
No man that lives can find them out ; 
Who grasps at things beyond his ken 

Is tossed on shoreless seas about ; 
Yet in the thickest of the night, 

For eyes that see, there shall be light. 

Mary Bradley. 



GREAT God, we know not what we know, 
Or what we are, or are to be ! 
We only trust we cannot go 

Through sin's disgrace outside of thee. 

And trust that though we are driven in, 
And forced upon thy name to call 

At last, by very strength of sin, 
Thou wilt have mercy on us all ! 

Alice Gary. 



SEEK not to know 
What pleaseth Heaven to hide ; 
Dark is the abyss of time, 
But light enough to guide our souls is given ; 
Whatever weal or woe betide, 
Turn never from the path of truth aside, 
And leave the event, in holy hope to Heaven. 



28 Songs in JUarknees. 

1KNOW the hand that is guiding me through the 
shadow to the light, 
And I know that all betiding me is meted out 

aright ; 
I know that the thorny path I tread is ruled by 

a golden line, 
And I know that the darker life's tangled thread, the 
richer the deep design. 

British Evangelist. 



IT was a day of darkness and of doubt, 
Like those which desperate men refuse to live, 
And in my anguish I could not forgive 
The Fate which seemed to bring it all about. 
In gloom I sat and nursed my misery still. 
With stolid face toward the pictured wall, 
When on my head, and pouring over all, 
A flood of sunlight through the window fell. 
I moved into the shade and nursed my doubt, 
Till through another window fell the light ; 
Then the glad thought broke on me, clear and 
bright : 
That thus God's love would always seek me out. 
All darkness and all doubt must pass away, 
And every night that falls must end in day. 

A. P. Miller. 



Songs in SDarkness. 29 

No light ! " we say .- 
Yet still serenely shine the midnight stars, 
And there are wonders left us to behold, 
If we but think to look between the bars. 

Edmund C. Stedman. 



WILL it be always night ? 
God knows how drear 
Is earth's poor trembling light. 
Will He not hear 
Each whispered prayer, and note each falling tear ? 



Will it be always night — 

Cold night and lone ? 
Shall I ne'er see the light 

From His white Throne — 
A glimmering light to guide me, trusting on ? 



Heaven hath no night ! 

It hath no wa7iing day ! 
But pure and brilliant light 
Shineth for aye. 
No weary pilgrim seeketh there the way, 

Nettie Vernon. 



30 Songs in SmimeeD. 

OUT of the sunshine, warm and soft and bright, 
Out of the sunshine into darkest night, 
I oft would faint with sorrow and affright, 

Only for this : I know He holds my hand ; 
So whether led in green or desert land, 
I trust, although I may not understand. 

Beside still waters ? No, not always so ; 
Ofttimes the tempests round me blow, 
And o'er my soul the waves and billows go. 

But when the storms beat loudest, and I cry 
Aloud for help, the Master standeth by, 
And whispers to my soul, "■ Lo, it is I ! " 



Above the tempest wild I hear him say, 

" Beyond this darkness lies the perfect day ; 

In every path of thine, I lead the way." 

So, whether on the hill-tops high and fair 

I dwell, or in the sunless valleys where 

The shadows lie, what matter 1 He is there. 

And more than this ; where'er the pathway lead, 
He gives to me no helpless broken reed, 
But his own hand, sufficient for my need. 



Songs in JDarkness. 31 

So, where he leads me I can safely go; 
And in the blest hereafter I shall know 
Why, in his wisdom he hath led me so. 

Anon. 



WHAT though before me it is dark, 
Too dark for me to see ? 
I ask for light for one step more : 
*Tis quite enough for me. 

Each little humble step I take, 
The gloom clears from the next ; 

So, though 'tis very dark beyond, 
I never am perplexed. 

And if sometimes the mist hangs close, 

So close I fear to stray. 
Patient I wait a little while, 

And soon it clears away. 

I would not see my further path, 

For mercy veils it so; 
My present steps might harder be 

Did I the future know. 

It may be that my path is rough. 

Thorny, and hard and steep; 
And, knowing this, my strength might fail, 

Through fear and terror deep. 



32 Songs in JUarkness, 



It may be that it winds along 

A smooth and flowery way ; 
But seeing this I might despise 

The journey ot to-day. 

Or if I saw a weary length 

Of road that I must wend, 
Fainting, I'd think, " My feeble powers 

Will fail me ere the end." 

And so I do not wish to see 

My journey or its length : 
Assured, that through my Father's love, 

Each step will bring its strength. 

Thus, step by step I onward go, 

Not looking far before ; 
Trusting that I shall always have 

Light for just " one step more.'' 

The British Messenger. 



I TRUST thee, O Father, Thy word cannot fail, 
But storms are about me, the night-winds prevail; 
I'm alone in the darkness ; Oh ! lead to the way. 
Where I may cast anchor and wait for the day. 

I sure must find harbor, or may it not be 
The tempest shall drive to a safe open sea — 
The winds proving friendly to pilot the way 
Where I may cast anchor and wait for the day. 



Songs in JUarkness. 33 

Black clouds are above me, O God, what a sight 
The lightnings reveal in their flash of clear light ! 
Rocks all around me, Oh, where is the way ? 
Right here I'll cast anchor and wait for the day. 

I trust in God's word, in his love, in his might; 
He sees in the darkness as well as the light. 
Not a rock in the sea but He knows its lay; 
I'm anchored in safety and wait for the day. 

Mrs. L. S. Mills. 



DID not life's darkness dim our sight ; 
Its sorrows hide Thine own sweet light, 
How much of goodness could we see ? 
How much of love that tells of Thee ? 

Potter's American Monthly. 



WE are waiting. Father, waiting, 
Through the long and dreary night, 
Watching 'mid the gathering shadows, 

For the morning's promised light ; 
We are trusting. Father, trusting, 
Though no ray of light appears ; 
And the night is filled with glory, 

Though we see our God through tears. 
3 



34 Songs in ?Darknes0. 

We are gazing, Father, gazing, 

On a sky with clouds o'ercast. 
And no sunbeam falls upon us, 

Through the darkness black and vast. 
E'en our Father's face is hidden, 

But we know his loving smile 
Lights the heavens beyond the darkness, 

And will dawn on us erewhile. 



We are bearing, Father, bearing. 

Burdens Thou hast kindly given ; 
We are learning to be patient, 

While earth's chains are being riven ; 
And the links that bind our spirits 

To their destiny above, 
Thou art forging from our sorrows, 

Thou art riveting in love. 



We are learning. Father, learning, 

Not to murmur or complain. 
Though our dearest friendships fail us, 

And our fondest hopes are vain, 
Thou dost hold us by a cable 

With its anchor in the sky, 
And we wait, 'mid shattered idols. 

For the dawning by and by. 

Hayes C. French, M.D. 



Songs in SDarkness. 35 

AND so we yearn, and so we sigh, 
And reach for more than we can see ; 
And witless of our folded wings 
Walk Paradise unconsciously. 

And dimly feel the day divine, 

With vision half redeemed from night, 

Till death shall fuse the double life, 
And God himself shall give us light. 

Lose the less joy that doth but blind ; 
Reach forth a larger bliss to find. 
To-day is brief : the inclusive spheres 
Rain raptures of a thousand years. 

Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. 



In God I'll trust 
Though all is darkness overhead ; 
Though not a ray on me is shed, 

Believe I must, 
That light still shines behind the cloud, 
And though this all my path enshroud, 
Yet will I trust. 

Yes, ever trust. 

Though feeling in the dark for God, 
I only reach His chastening rod, 



3^ Songe in JUarkness. 

And by that crushed, 
Am sorely tried by doubt and fear, 
Though Faith sees dimly through the tear, 

Still will I trust. 

In God I'll trust. 

Though darkness followed be by storm, 
Though on the billows walks no form, 

Nor tempest hushed 
For me succeeded be by calm, 
Though I see not Christ's outstretched arm, 

Yet will I trust. 

In God ril trust. 

Though human help in time of need 
I find at best a broken reed. 

Though I have nursed 
But secret foes in shape of friends, — 
Though love itself in sorrow ends, 
Still heaven I'll trust. 

Yes, I will trust. 

Anonymous. 



SOME souls, cut off from moorings, 
Go drifting into the night. 
Darkness before and around them. 
With scarce a glimmer of light, 
They are acting beneath " sealed orders," 
And sailing by faith, not sight. 



gongs in SDarkness. 37 

Keeping" the line of duty 

Through good and evil report, 
They shall ride the storms out safely, 

Be the voyage long or short — 
For the ship that carries God's orders 

Shall anchor at last in port. 



" Thou art my God ! " When I say o'er those words, 

I see a light beyond the night ; and hear 
Voices far richer than the songs of birds. 

Mine eyes with happy tears then overswim: 
The hearts I have are sweetest that can be ; 

My mind's a cup with love above the brim : 
Fine incense circles 'round all that I see ; 

In every sound I hear a holy hymn. 

Sutton, i8cx>. 



ALL is of God ! If He but wave His hand 
The mists collect, the rains fall thick and loud, 
Till with a smile of light on sea and land 

Lo ! He looks back from the departing cloud. 

God sets some souls in shade, alone ; 
They have no daylight of their own : 
Only in lives of happier ones 
They see the shine of distant suns. 



38 Songs in SDarkness. 

God knows. Content thee with thy night, 
Thy greater heaven hath grander light. 
To-day is close ; the hours are small ; 
Thou sitt'st afar, and hast them all. 

Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. 



" You have said 
That God is just, and I have looked around 
To seek the proof in human lot, in vain. 
The rain falls kindly on the just man's fields, 
But on the unjust man's more kindly still ; 
And I have never known the winter's blast, 
Or the quick lightning, or the pestilence, 
Make nice discriminations when let slip 
From God's right hand." 

" 'Tis a great mystery; 
Yet God is just, and blessed be His name ! 
Is loving, too. I know that T am weak. 
And that the pathway of His Providence 
Is on the hills where I may never climb. 
Therefore my reason yields her hand to Faith, 
And follows meekly where the angel leads. 
I see the rich man have his portion here, 
And Lazarus, in glorified repose, 
Sleep like a jewel on the breast of Faith 
In Heaven's broad light. I see that whom God loves 
He chastens sorely, but I ask not why. 
I only know that God is just and good : 



w 



gongs in SDatkness. 39 

All else is mystery. Why evil lives 

Within His universe I may not knov^. 

I know it lives, and taints the vital air ; 

And that in ways inscrutable to me — 

Yet compromising not his soundless love 

And boundless power — it lives against His will." 

J. G. Holland, in '''Bitter-Sweet:^ 



THE clouds may rest on the present, 
And sorrow on days that are gone, 
But no night is so utterly cheerless 

That we may not look for the dawn ; 
And there is no human being 

With so wholly dark a lot, 
But the heart by turning the picture 
May find a sunny spot. 

Phcebe Gary. 



THE stars are in the sky all day : 
But when the sun has gone away 
And hovering shadows cool the west 
And call the sleepy birds to rest, 
And heaven grows softly dim and dun. 
Into its darkness one by one 
Steal forth those starry shapes all fair — 
We say steal forth, but they were there ! 



4o Songs in JDarkness. 

There all day long, unseen, unguessed, 
Climbing the sky from east to west. 
The angels saw them where they hid, 
And so, perhaps, the eagles did. 
For they can face the sharp sun-ray, 
Nor wink, nor need to look away; 
But we, blind mortals, gazed from far, 
And did not see a single star. 
I wonder if the world is full 
Of other secrets beautiful. 
As little guessed, as hard to see. 
As this sweet starry mystery ! 
Do angels veil themselves in space, 
And make the sun their hiding place ? 
Do heavenly wings flash as spirits go 
On heavenly errands to and fro — 
While we, down-looking, never guess 
How near our lives they crowd and press ? 
If so, at life's set we may see 
Into the dusk steal noiselessly. 
Sweet faces that we used to know. 
Dear eyes like stars that softly glow. 
Dear hands stretched out to point the way, 
~ And deem the night more fair than day. 

Susan Coolidge. 






II. 



SONGS IN HEAVINESS. 




**Down, thou climbing sorrow ! thy element is below ! 



** Then come the gloomy hours, when the fire wHl 
neither burn on our hearths nor in our hearts, and all 
without and within is dismal, cold and dark." 



** Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, 

Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours 
Weeping upon his bed hath sate, 

He knows ye not, ye Heavenly Powers ! " 

** Grief within our hearts grows strong 
With passionate meaning, till thou come 
And turn it to a song." 



SONGS IN HEAVINESS, 



Strike ! Thou the anthem, we, Thy keys I ' 



I THINK we are too ready with complaint 
In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope 

Indeed, beyond the zenith and the slope 
Of yon gray blank sky, we might grow faint 
To muse upon Eternity's constraint 

Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope 

Must widen early, is it well to droop 
For a few days consumed in loss and taint ? 
O pusillanimous heart, be comforted. 

And, like a cheerful traveler, take the road 
Singing, beside the hedge. What if the bread 

Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod 
To meet the flints ? At least it may be said, 
"Because the way is short, I thank thee, God ! " 

E. B. Browning. 



\ 



44 Songs in ^eat)iness 



WHEN the song*s gone out of your life, 
That you thought would last to the end- 
That first sweet song of the heart, 

That no after days can lend — 
The song of the birds to the trees, 

The song of the wind to the flowers, 
The song that the heart sings to itself 
When it wakes in life's morning hours — 



You can start no other song ; 

Not even a tremulous note 
Will falter forth on the empty air ; 

It dies in your aching throat. 
It is all in vain that you try, 

For the spirit of song has fled — 
The nightingale sings no more to the rose 

When the beautiful flower is dead. 



So let silence softly fall 

On the bruised heart's quivering strings, 
Perhaps from the loss of all ; / 

You may learn the song that the seraph sings, I , 
A grand and glorious psalm / \ 

That will tremble and rise and thrill, 
And fill your breast with its grateful rest, 

And its lonely yearnings still. 



f 



/ 

^ 



Songs in ^cavincBB. 45 

NOT so hopeless, drooping spirit, 
Yon clouds at length will rise ; 
And beyond them in the distance 
Spreads a realm of sunny skies. 
God's promise standeth fast. 
And the glory breaks at last ; 
Peace is rising out of strife. 
Death is dying into life. 
Up springs the eternal sun. 
Heaven and earth will soon be one. 

HORATIUS BONAR. 



IS thy cruise of comfort failing ? 
Rise and share it with another, 
And through all the years of famine 

It shall serve thee and thy brother ; 
Love divine will fill thy storehouse, 

Or thy handful still renew ; 
Scanty fare for one will often 
Make a royal feast for two. 



Mrs. Charles. 



I REMEMBER best 

The good time when we were unhappy ; then 
When we were full of sorrows and unrest, 
Without a friend among the sons of men. 



46 Songs in ^eamness. 

We found " the Comforter," we found " the Light," 
We found " the Strength " beyond our doubts and 
fears ; 
We met with angels both by day and night, 

And touched " the Hand " that wiped away our 
tears. 

Amelia E. Barr. 



OUR course is onward, onward, into light : 
What though the darkness gathereth amain ? 
Yet to return or tarry both are vain. 
How tarry, when around us is thick night ? 
Whither return ? What flower yet ever might, 
In days of gloom and cold and stormy rain, 
Inclose itself in its green bud again — 
Hiding from wrath of tempest out of sight ? 
Courage ! we travel through a darksome cave. 
But still, as nearer to the light we draw, 

Fresh gales will reach us from the upper air 
And w^holesome dews of heaven our foreheads lave ; 
The darkness lighten more, till, full of awe, 
We stand in open sunshine — unaware. 

Trench. 



THERE is always sunrise somewhere 
Though the night be 'round thee drawn, 
Somewhere still the east is bright'ning 
With the rosy flush of dawn. 



Bongs in ^eamness. 47 

What though near the bat is flitting 

And the raven croaks his lay, 
Somewhere still the sun-bird's greeting 

Hails the rising of the day ! 

Let us lay to heart the comfort 

In this sweet reflection found, 
That however dense our darkness 

Somewhere still the world around 
Dews are glistening, flowers uplifting, 

Wild birds warbling, as reborn, 
Lakes and streams and woods and mountains 

Melting in the kiss of morn ! 

Ne'er was night, however dismal. 

But withdrawn its wings of gloom. 
Ne'er was sorrow, but a day-star 

Hinted of the morrow's bloom ! 
Ne'er was woe, but in its bosom 

Was the seed of hope impearled ; 
There is still a sunrise somewhere. 

Speeding, speeding round the world ! 



THESE saddened years ! These saddened years ! 
Pain, parting, sin — so much for tears ; 
So many failings that I mourn. 
So many loved ones from me torn, 



48 QouQB in ^eamness. 

The griefs of others on me pressed ; 
Yet Lord, since thou hast thought it best, 
I thank thee for these saddened years. 



These toilsome years ! These toilsome years ! 

Whose work like sunlight disappears 

Awhile ! The toil of heart and mind 

To help the weak, to lead the blind, 

To guide the strong with zealous care ; — 

Yes, Lord, in many an earnest prayer 

I thank thee for these toilsome years. 

Rev. W. R. Cochrane. 



O WEARY hearts that languish 
With heavy grief oppressed, 
Say to your dreary anguish 

There's One who knoweth best. 



Our short, scant lines, ne'er measure 

His purpose reaching far. 
Look upward through the azure, 

Where shines the polar star ! 

Adelaide George Bennett. 



Songs in ^eamness. 49 

.... On every morrow are we wreathing 
A flowery band to bind us to the earth, 
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth 
Of nobler natures, of the gloomy days, 
Of all the unhealthy and darkened ways 
Made for our searching ; yes, in spite of all. 
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall 
From our dark spirits. 

Keats. 



GOD lifts the soul or casts it down. 
And schools it in His own wise way. 
And fits it to receive a crown, 
In some great Coronation Day. 

Hope cries, " Rejoice ! thou shalt be blest 1 ** 
Faith cries, " Whate'er befalls is best ; " 
Come ! drink the sweet or bitter cup, 
And suffer on and struggle up. 

Abraham Perry Miller. 



W 



E, ignorant of ourselves, 
Beg often our own harm, which the Wise 
Powers 
Deny us for our good : so find we profit 
By losing of our prayers. 

Shakespearh. 
4 



50 Songs in ^^eatJiness. 

IN the dusk of our sorrowful hours, 
The time of our trouble and tears, 
With frost at the heart of the flowers, 

And blig-ht on the bloom of the years, 
Like the mother-voice tenderly hushing 

The sound of the sob and the moan. 

We hear when the anguish is crushing, 

" He trod in the wine-press alone." 

How sudden soe'er the disaster. 

Or heavy the hand that may smite. 
We are yet in the grace of the Master, 

We never are out of his sight ; 
Though the winnowing w^inds of temptation 

May forth from all quarters be blown, 
We are sure of the coming salvation, — 

The Lord will remember his own. 

From him, in the night of his trial. 

Both heaven and earth fled away ; 
His boldest had only denial. 

His dearest had only dismay. 
With a cloud o'er the face of the Father, 

He entered the anguish unknown ; 
But we, though our sorrows may gather. 

Shall never endure them alone. 

We bend in the human frail fashion. 
And sway 'neath the weight of the rod. 

But swift in its blessed compassion 
Still hastens the help of our God. 



Songs in ^tavincBs. 51 

And the sigh of the spirit faint-hearted 

Goes up in a song to the throne, 
Such strength in its need is imparted : — 

** He trod in the wine-press alone." 

And therefore he knows to the utmost, 

The pangs that the mortal can bear ; 
No mortal hath pain that the Master 

Refuses to heal or to share. 
And the cries that ascend to the Loving 

Who bowed Him for us to atone. 
Are hushed at the gentle reproving, 

"He trod in the wine-press alone.'* 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



CRUSH the dead leaves under thy feet. 
Gaze not on them with mournful sigh ; 
Think not earth has no glory left. 

Because a few of its frail things die ; 
Springtime will bring fresh verdure as sweet — 
Crush the dead leaves under thy feet. 

Look not back with despairing heart, 

Think not life's morning has been in vain, 

Rich, broad fields lie before thee yet. 
Ready to yield their golden grain ; 



52 Songs in i^eammss. 

Autumn may bring thee a fruitage sweet- 
Crush the dead leaves under thy feet. 



Murmur not, if shadows fall 

Thick and dark on thy earthly way ; 

Hearts there are which must walk in shade. 
Till they reach the light of eternal day; 

Life is not long, and the years are fleet, 

Crush the dead leaves under thy feet. 



AS torrents in summer, 
Half dried in their channels 
Suddenly rise, though the 
Sky is still cloudless, 
For rain has been falling 
Far off at their fountains : 



So hearts that are fainting 
Grow full to o'erflowing, 
And they that behold it 
Marvel, and know not 
That God at their fountains 
Far off has been raining. 

From "The Nun of Nidaros.' 



Songs in ^cavincBQ. 53 

EVERY clay is a fresh beginning, 
Every morn is the world made new, 
You who are weary of sorrow and sinning. 
Here is a beautiful hope for you ; 
A hope for me and a hope for you. 

All the past things are past and over, 

The tasks are done and the tears are shed. 

Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover ; 

Yesterday's wounds which smarted and bled, 
Are healed with the healing which night has shed. 

Yesterday now is a part of forever ; 

Bound up in a sheaf which God holds tight, 

With glad days and sad days and bad days which 
never 
Shall visit us more with their bloom and their blight, 
Their fullness of sunshine or sorrowful night. 

Let them go, since we cannot re-live them, 

Cannot undo and cannot atone ; 
God in His mercy receive, forgive them ; 

Only the new days are our own. 

To-day is ours and to-day alone. 

Every day is a fresh beginning ; 

Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain. 
And spite of old sorrow and older sinning, 
And puzzles forecasted and possible pain, 

Take heart with the day, and begin again. 

Susan Coolidgb. 



54 Songs in ^^eamness. 

TAKE unto Thyself, O Father, 
This folded day of thine, 
This weary day of mine. 
Its ragged corners cut me yet, — 
Oh still the jar and fret ! 
Father do not forget 
That I am tired 
With this marred day of thine, 
This erring day of mine ! 
Forget not but forgive. 



AS on wrecked battle grounds, 
Some black-robed piteous nun 
Binds up the bleeding wounds 

When the day's fight is done, 
So, stealing o'er the way 

Where garishly has passed 
The heated, burdened day 

To wither, bruise and blast, 
Night comes in sable dress, 
With soothing, soft caress 
To heal and sweetly bless. 

Sad eyes, which long do weep, 
Hearts heavy, sick and worn. 

Praying for peaceful sleep, 
Hands weary, brier-torn. 



Songs in ^cavintBB. 55 

Feet that for courted rest 

Halt by the sunset gate, 
Welcome this dark-robed guest 

And for her coming wait. 
Bird of the broken wing 
Cease now thy sorrowing, 
Night-time doth healing bring. 

Adelaide George Bennett. 



RAISE it to heaven when thine eye fills with tears, 
For only in a watery sky appears 
The bow of light ; and from the invisible skies 
Hope's glory shines not, save through weeping eyes. 

Frances Kemble Butler. 



IN my right hand I clasp to-morrow's grief, 
And in my left hand is held the present woe ; 
No other hand have I wherewith to grasp 

The needed strength and wearily I go 
Weighed down by these two loads, and aching sore ; 

And sore dismayed, because no help I see ; 
And sore perplexed, because my greater load 
Doth make me lean and walk unevenly. 



56 Songs in ^camncBB. 

I lean towards my right, — to-morrow's load 

Is so much greater than the present grief; 
But lo ! at last, for my right hand I find 

A wondrous strength, a marvelous relief. 
God takes this right-hand load ; I need not hold 

To-morrow's woe ; and now my hand is free 
To grasp the strength I so much need to-day. 

I grasp it, Christ, whene'er I cling to thee. 

Anna Temple. 



BLESSED are they who are homesick, for they 
shall come again to their Father's house. 



Heinrich Stilling. 



LIKE a thorn in the flesh, like a fly in the mesh, 
Like a boat that is chained to shore, 
The wild unrest of the heart in my breast 

Tortures me more and more. 
I know not why it should wail and cry. 

Like a child that is lost at night ; 
For it knows no grief but has found relief, 
And it is not touched with blight. 



Songs in ^eamness. 57 

It has had of pleasure full many a measure, 

It has thrilled with love's red wine ; 
It has hope and health, and youth's rare wealth — 

O rich is this heart of mine ! 
Yet it is not glad — it is wild and mad, 

Like a billow before it breaks ; 
And its ceaseless pain is worse than vain, 

Since it knows not, only it aches. 



It longs to be like the waves of the sea. 

That break from control, and beat, 
And dash, and lunge, and hurry and plunge, 

And die at the gray rock's feet. 
It wearies of life, and it sickens of strife ; 

And yet it tires of rest. 
Oh, I know not why it should ache and cry — 

Tis a troublesome heart at best. 



Though not understood, I think 'tis a good 

And god-like discontent. 
It springs from the soul that longs for its goal, 

The source from which it was sent. 
Then surge, O breast ! with thy wild unrest — 

Cry, heart ! like a child at night — 
Till the mystic shore of the evermore 

Shall dawn on the soul's glad sight. 

Ella Wheeler. 



S^ Bongs in ^eamnesa. 

Tired ! well, what of that ? 
Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease ? 
Fluttering the rose leaves scattered by the breeze ? 
Come, rouse thee, while it is called to-day ! 
Coward, arise ! go forth upon thy way. 

Lonely ! and what of that ? 
Some must be lonely ! 'tis not given to all 
To feel a heart responsive rise and fall ; 
To blend another life into its own. 
Work may be done in loneliness. Work on. 

Dark ! well, what of that ? 
Didst fondly dream the sun would never set } 
Dost fear to lose thy way ? Take courage yet ! 
Learn thou to walk by faith and not by sight. 

Hard ! well, what of that ? 
Didst fancy life one summer holiday ? 
With lessons none to learn, and naught to pay ? 
Go, get thee to thy task. Conquer or die ! 
It must be learned. Learn it then, patiently. 

No help ! Nay, 'tis not so ! 
Though human lielp be far, thy God is nigh, 
Who feeds the ravens, hears His children's cry. 
He's near thee, whereso'er thy footsteps roam, 
And he will guide thee, light thee, help thee home. 



Songs in ^camneBG. 59 



OSOUL of mine, when tasks are hard and long, 
And Hfe so crowds thee with its stress and strain 
That thou, half fainting, art too tired to pray, 
Drink thou this wine of blessing and be strong ! 
God knows ! what though the lips be dumb with 
pain, 
Or the pen drops ? He knows what thou would'st 
say ! 



TEARS are not always fruitful ; their hot drops 
Sumetimes but scorch the cheek and dim the 
eyes ; 
Despairing murmurs over blackened hopes. 
Not the meek spirit's calm and chastened cry. 

Oh, better not to weep, than weep amiss ; 

Full hard it is to learn to weep aright ; — 
To weep wise tears, the tears that heal and bless, 

The tears which their own bitterness requite. 

Oh, better not to grieve tiian waste our woe. 

To fling away the spirit's finest gold. 
To lose, not gain, by sorrow, to overflow 

The sacred channels which true sadness holds. 



6o Songs in ^camncBQ. 

To shed our tears as trees their blossoms shed, 
Not all at random, but to make sure way 

For fruit in season, when the bloom lies dead, 
On the chill earth, the victim of decay : — 

This is to use the grief that God has sent. 
To read the lesson, and to learn the love, 

To sound the depths of saddest chastisement, 
To pluck on earth, the fruit of realms above. 

Weep not too fondly, lest the cherished grief 
Should into vain, self-pitying weakness turn ; 

Weep not too long, but seek divine relief. 

Weep not too fiercely, lest the fierceness burn. 

Husband your tears ; if lavished, they become 
Like waters that inundate and destroy, 

For active, self-denying days leave room, 
So shall you sow in tears and reap in joy. 

HORATIUS BONAR. 



LATE on me weeping, did this whisper fall : 
" Dear child, there is no need to weep at all ! 
Why go about to grieve and to despair ? 
Why weep now through thy Future's eyes, and bear 
In vain to-day to-morrow's load of care ? 



Songs in i^eamness. 6i 

•* Mine is thy welfare. Yea, the storms fulfill 
On those who love me, none but my decrees. 
Lightning- shall not strike thee against my will ; 
And I, thy God, can save thee, when I please, 
From quaking earth, and the devouring seas. 

" Why be so dull, so slow to understand ? 
The more thou trustest me, the more will grov/ 
My love ; and thou, a jewel in my hand, 
Shalt richer be ; whence thou canst never go 
So softly slipping but that I shall know. 

" If thou dost seem to fall ; if griefs and pains 
And death prevail ; for thee there yet remains 
My love which sent them, and which surely will 
Thee reinstate, where thou shalt thenceforth fill 
A place still warmer, and more steadfast still.'* 

Father ! (I said) I do accept Thy word, 
To perfect trust in Thee now am I stirred, 
By the dear, gracious saying I have heard. — 
And having said thus, fell a peace so deep. 
What could I do, dear friends ? what do, but weep ? 

Septimus Sutton, 1800. 



R 



OLL on, O earth ! roll on, and swing 
Past midnight, and the morning bring. 



62 Songs in i^eamness. 

Roll on, sad earth ! too prone we are 
To dwell among the tombs, and swear 
A dumb allegiance to despair : 
For all the prophets of the sky, 
Foretell, when scarlet sunsets die 
A golden sunrise by and by. 

Edwin S. Hopkins. 




f. 




III. 



SONGS IN TEMPTATION. 




' * We saw as angels see ; through loss and sinnings. " 

" For him that overcometh are 
The new name written on the stone, 
The raiment white, the crown, the throne. 

And I will give him the Morning Star ! '* 

** In the midst of much failure, have the heart to begin 
again." 

* * Of our vices we can frame 

A ladder, if we will but tread 
Beneath our feet each deed of shame * 



SONGS IN TEMPTATION. 



Lives in the darkness show 
Their whiteness best." 



In the throng 
Of evils that assail us, there are none 
That yield their strength to Virtue's struggling arm 
With such munificent reward of power 
As great temptations. We may win by toil 
Endurance ; saintly fortitude by pain ; 
By sickness, patience; faith and trust by fear; 
But the great stimulus that spurs to life, 
And crowds to generous development 
Each chastened power and passion of the soul, 
Is the temptation of the soul to sin. 
Resisted, and reconquered, evermore. 

J. G. Holland, 



66 Songs in temptation. 

GIVE strength when'er our strength must fail ; 
Give strength the flesh to curb; 
Give strength when craft and sin prevail. 
To weaken and disturb. 
The world doth lay her snares 
To catch us unawares : 
Give strength to sweep them all away ; 
So in our utmost need, 
And when death comes indeed, 
Thy strength shall be our perfect stay. 

Marperger. 



WHAT though we grope and stumble in the way. 
The thorny way by which our feet are led ? 
Still strive to walk uprightly, and to lay 
Foundation firm for other feet to tread. 

Laura B. Boyce. 



I DO not know the deadly depths within, 
Where lurk my heart's capacities of wrong, 
I cannot fathom what I might have been, 

Abandoned to myself to drift along 
The seething floods, whose cruel undertow 
Clutches unwary souls, had not the hand 
Of the strong Swimmer, buffeting the flow 
Of death, upheld my life and drawn to land. 



00ng0 in temptation. 67 

I only know that from my fatal self 

One who is strong preserved me ! and I owe 
My rescuing to Him, who treads the shelf 

Where sea meets shore along this treacherous 
coast, 
To watch the overbold, who dare the woe 
Of waters, lest their powers give up the ghost. 

M. Wooi^EY Stryker. 



THIS shall please Thee, if devoutly trying 
To keep Thy laws, mine own wrong will 
denying, 
I watch mine heart, lest sin again enchain it, 
And from Thee tear it. 

But since 1 have not strength to flee temptation, 
To crucify each sinful inclination, 
O ! let Thy grace and strength provide me. 
And gently guide me. 

JOHANN HeERMAN, X630. 



M 



Y heart grows strong, 
Whene'er I feel Thy love. Most High, 
Doth compass me around ; 



6S Songs in STemjitation. 

But would I have Thee for m}^ shield, 
No more to sin my soul must yield, 

But in Thy ways be found ; 
Thou God w^ilt ever walk with me, 
If I turn not aside from Thee. 

Duke of Brunswick, 1667. 



'|\TEATH some shadow oft I wait, 
1 1 Like blind Bartimeus at the gate ; 
Assured that when my Lord draws nigh, 
Sin, doubt and darkness all shall fly : 
Hence to His cross I cHng the more. 
Whene'er these shadows touch my door. 

John Orj^rohavx^ /rom " Shadoivs of the Te7npted. 



GREAT truths are greatly w^on; not found by 
chance, 
Nor wafted on the breath of summer dreams ; 
But grasped in the great struggle of the soul, 
Hard buffeted with adverse wind and stream. 

In the dark day of conflict, fear and grief, 

When the strong hand of God, put forth in might, 

Plows up the subsoil of the stagnant heart 

And brings the imprisoned truth-seed to the light. 

HORATIUS BONAR. 



Songs in Semptation. 69 



On finding a Lily growing in the dry bed of a Pond. 

NEVER on the clear bright billow, 
Lifted from her lowly bed, 
Never on a wavelet pillow 

Rested she her gentle. head, 
Still the torturing, upward yearning 

Instincts of her dainty race, 
Bade her from the dull earth turning, 

Rise in purity and grace. 
** Mocking every aspiration 

Prone and helpless here I lie," 
This in hours of dark temptation, 

Was her spirit's anguished cry. 
*' Vain the hopes, the longings endless, 

For a freer, brighter life, 
Making me more lone and friendless. 

Wearying me with useless strife. 
Let my better nature perish ; 

Nevermore will I aspire, 
Nevermore will seek to cherish 

Higher instinct, pure desire ; 
On these weeds will gaze admiring 

Nodding in this earth-born breeze. 
Coarse, contented, unaspiring, 

Would I were like one of these." 

But the sunbeams on her falling, 
Roused from that despairing chill. 

And the voice within her calling, 
Bade her be a lily still ! 



70 Bongs in S^mptation. 

Wind-borne from some purer region, 

Came this testimony free ; 
** Fear not, for their name is Legion 

Who have hoped and toiled like thee ; 
Slowly, painfully, thou learnest 

What thy destiny must be ; 
All thine inner promptings earnest 

Are but glorious prophecy. 
Faithful to the highest duty, 

Hope, yet work with heart and will ; 
Thou shalt yet arise in beauty, 

Thou shalt be a lily stilly 



Then as to some touch mysterious; 

Every inmost heartstring thrilled, 
While her spirit, thoughtful, serious, 

With a wondrous joy was filled. 
Blessed hours of exaltation ! 

Memories of such rapture rare, 
Saved her from her dark temptation. 

Strengthened her against despair : 
Though no partial friends beholding 

Cheered her with delicious praise, 
All unmarked her slow unfolding 

Through the long, long summer days ; 
Though half doubtful of her mission. 

Dreading lest her power might fail, 
Musing on that dream elysian, 

Hopeful grew the lily pale. 



Songs in QLcmpiation. 71 

All its meaning" scarce divining 

Still new efforts she put forth ; 
For the vital moistures pining, 

Deeper struck her roots in earth, 
Gratefully her thirst allaying 

Every dewdrop gathered up, 
Choice perfumes from zephyrs straying 

Hoarded in her pearly cup. 
Once, to let the sunbeams enter, 

Dared to ope that chalice white ; 
When instantly her heart's deep center 

Caught that golden radiance bright. 
So she kept her pure corolla 

Free from earthly soil or stain, 
Till the autumn winds blew hollow — 

Till the welcome autumn rain. 
Then a little pool collected 

Raised her on her slender stem, 
And the lily was perfected 

Fairer than the fairest gem. 

Augusta Harvey Worthen. 



They only the victory win 
Who have fought the good fight and have vanquished 

the demon that tempts us within ; 
Who have held to their faith, unseduced by the prize 

that the world holds on high ; 
Who have dared for a high cause to suffer, resist, 

fight — if need be, to die. 



72 Songs in ®em:ptali0n. 

LORD, be mine this prize to win ; — 
Guide me through a world of sin ; 
Keep me by Thy saving grace ; 
Give me at Thy side a place ; 
Sun and Shield alike Thou art, 
Guide and guard my erring heart ; 
Grace and glory flow from Thee, 
Shower, O shower them, Lord, on me. 



Kappy souls, w^hose praises flow. 
Ever in this vale of woe ; 
Waters in the desert rise, 
Manna feeds them from the skies ; 
On they go from strength to strength. 
Till they see Thy face at length, 
At Thy feet adoring fall 
Who hast led them safe through all. 

H. F. Lyte, 1834. 



God liveth ever ! 
Wherefore, Soul, despair thou never ! 
Our God is good, in every place 

His love is known, his help is found ; 
His mighty arm, and tender grace 

Bring good from ills that hem us round. 



Songs in QLcmptation, 73 

Easier than we think can he 
Turn to joy our agony. 
Soul, remember 'mid thy pains 
God o'er all forever reigns. 

God liveth ever ! 
Wherefore, Soul, despair thou nev^er ! 
He who can earth and heaven control, 

Who spreads the clouds on sea and land, 
Whose presence fills the mighty Whole, 
In each true heart is close at hand. 
Love him, he will surely send 
Help and joy that never end. 
Soul, remember in thy pains 
God o'er all forever reigns. 

God liveth ever ! 
Wherefore, Soul, despair thou never ! 
Those whom the thoughtless world forsakes 

Who stand bewildered with their woe, 
God gently to his bosom takes 

And bids them all his fullness know. 
In thy sorrow's swelling flood 
Own his hand who seeks thy good. 
Soul forget not in thy pains 
God o'er all forever reigns. 

God liveth ever ! 
Wherefore, Soul, despair thou never ! 



74 00ngs in ®em?3latian. 

What though thou tread with bleeding feet 

A thorny path of shame and gloom, 
Thy God will choose the way most meet, 
To lead thee heavenwards, lead thee home. 
For this life's long night of sadness 
He will give thee peace and gladness, 
Soul, forget not in thy pains 
God o'er all forever reigns. 

ZlHN, 1500. 



OGOD, O Kinsman loved, but not enough ! 
O man, with eyes majestic after death, 
Whose feet have toiled along our pathways rough, 

Whose lips drawn human breath ! 
By that one likeness which is ours and thine, — 

By that one nature which doth make us kin, — 
By that high heaven, where sinless thou dost shine 

To draw us sinners in, — 
Come ! lest this heart should, cold and castaway, 

Die, ere the Guest adored it entertain, — 
Lest feet which slip upon the way 

Should miss thine heavenly reign. 

Jean Ingklow. 



SORELY tried and sorely tempted 
From no agonies exempted, 



Bongs in Qlcmviation. 75 

In the penance of his trial. 
And the discipline of pain ; 
Often by illusions cheated, 
Often baffled and defeated 
In the tasks to be completed, 
He by toil and self-denial, 
To the highest shall attain. 

From Longfellow's *' Masque of Pandora.'* 



It is one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall, 

Shakespeare. 



THE past is mine, and I take it all, 
Its weakness — ^its folly, if you please ; 
Nay, even my sins, if you come to that, 
May have been helps, not hindrances. 



If I saved my body from the flames 
Because that once I had burned my hand ; 

Or kept myself from a greater sin 

By doing a less — you will understand — 



7^ Songg in Sijetnptation. 

It was better I suffered a little pain, 

Better I sinned for a little time, 
If the smarting warned me bade from death, 

And the sting of sin withheld from crime. 

Who knows its strength by trial, will know 
What strength must be set against a sin ; 

And how temptation is overcome 

He has learned who has felt its power within. 

Phcebe Gary. 



TOSSED on temptation's sea 
Lord hear my cry ; 
All seems so dark around, 

Still art Thou nigh ? 
High roll the billows. 
Fierce is the fight; 
Lord, Thou hast left me 
Alone in the night ! 

** Hush, thou of little faith, 

Cry not so wild. 
Know that I slumber not, 

Thou art my child : 
And when the trouble comes, 

Bend to my will ; 
I bid the wildest storm : 

Peace, be still ! " 



gangs in (temptation. 77 

" 'T^EMPTED in all points like ourselves, was He — 

1 Tempted, but sinless." Oh, what majesty 
Of meaning did those precious words convey ! 
'Twas through temptation, thought I, that the Lord — 
The mediator between God and men — 
Reached down the hand of sympathetic love 
To meet the grasp of lost humanity. 
This man kneeling has the Lord in him. 

Tempted but sinless; — one hand grasping mine, 
The other Christ's. 

J. G. Holland. 



AND is there care in Heaven ? And is there love 
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, 
That may compassion of their evils move ? 

There is, — else much more wretched were the case 
Of men, than beasts : . . . . 

How oft do they their silver bowers leave 

To come to succor us that succor w^ant ! 
How oft do they with golden pinions cleave 

The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, 
Against foul fiends, to aid us militant ! 

They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, 
And their bright squadrons round about us plant, 

And all for love and nothing for reward ; 
O why should heavenly God to men have such regard? 

Edmund Spenser- 




IV. 



SONGS IN HUMILIATION. 




** So shalt thou come to thy reaping, so shalt thou say — 

it is well — 
With lips redeemed from the curse, and soul from the 

uttermost hell ! '* 



** Heaven to win a soul must bring it down." 



** A noble heart like the sun showeth its greatest coun- 
tenance in its lowest estate.'* 



* * Hath any wronged thee ? Be bravely revenged. 
Slight it, and the work's begun. Forgive it, and *tis 
finished.'* 



SONGS IN HUMILIATION. 



*' We mount to heaven on the ruins of our cherished schemes, 
finding our failures were successes." 



1WILL go forth 'mong men, not mailed in scorn, 
But in the armor of a pure intent ; 
Great duties are before me, and great songs. 
And whether crowned or crownless when I fall, 
It matters not, so as God's work is done. 

Alexander Smith. 



'HP IS all I have — smoke, failure, foiled endeavor, 
1 Coldness and doubt, and palsied lack : 

Such as I have, I send Thee, perfect Giver, 
Send Thou Thy lightning back ! 

Geo. Macdonald. 



82 Songs in ilnmiliation. 

GROPEST thou in failure's valley 
Sad, disheartened and dismayed ? 
Lest as in the past thy footsteps 

May be yet again betrayed, 
Fix thine eyes upon the orient, 

Turn thee from the sorrow's feast, 
Till the never-failing sunrise 
Glorifies the darkened east ! 



BUT all through life I see a cross. 
Where sons of God yield up their breath ; 
There is no gain except by loss, 
There is no life except by death. 
There is no vision but by faith. 
No glory but by bearing shame. 
Nor justice but by taking blame ; 
And that Eternal Passion saith 
Be emptied of glory and right and name. 

Olrig Grange. 



SOFTLY sing the love of Jesus ! 
For our hearts are full of tears, 
And we think how walking humbly 
This low earth for weary years. 



Songs in humiliation. 83 

Without riches, without dwelling, 
Wounded sore by foe and friend, 

In the garden and iij dying, 
Jesus loved us to the end. 



WHEN the sad soul in weariness 
Bows low, and knows its own distress, 
Nor finds through the extended earth 
The happiness pursued since birth, — 
Borne down with sorrow and the press 
Of a keen sense of little worth, — 
In these dear words its woes may drown, 
** Whoso is faithful wears a crown." 

There is this thought for you and you ; 
God's providence is not untrue : 
He serves as well who bravely bears 
As he who with distinction shares, — 
There is a work for each to do : 
The soul that uncomplaining wears 
The chains wherewith it is enchained, 
Is sweeter for i he patience gained. 

To be exultant, good or strong, 
When praised or flattered by the throng — • 
When circumstance and men conspire 
To raise us to a level higher, — 



84 Songs in i^nmiliation. 

This were not hard ; but if through long- 
Prosaic years we do not tire, 
Can in small things be tried yet true, 
This is to live as heroes do. 

Joseph W. Sutphen. 



'1 17" HAT else remains for me ? 
To build a new life on a ruined life. 



HOW shalt thou bear the cross that now 
So dread a weight appears ? 
Keep quietly to God, and think 
Upon the Eternal Years. 

Bear gently, suffer like a child, 

Nor be ashamed of tears: 
Kiss the sweet cross, and in thy heart 

Sing of the Eternal Years. 

And know'st thou not how bitterness 

An ailing spirit cheers ? 
Thy medicine is the strengthening thought 

Of the Eternal Years* 

Faber. 



001X06 in ^humiliation. 85 

HUMILITY is the base of every virtue, 
God keeps all His pity for the proud. 



Bailey. 



WHEN all the v^eary toil with which we wrought 
At our life's work, undaunted by defeat, 
Falls from the nerveless grasp, the goal we sought 
All unattained, our work all incomplete: 

Count not God's plan defeated in the life 
He gave to us, nor all our toil in vain, 

Because we are not victors in the strife : 

Who bravely fights and nobly bears his pain. 

Wrests victory from defeat. Not what we win, 
But what we strive for, doth the Master heed. 

If what we sought to be we have not been, 
Our striving may have helped another's need. 

Laura B. Boyck, 



GOD'S justice is a bed, where we 
Our anxious hearts may lay, 
And weary with ourselves, may sleep 
Our discontent away. 



86 Songs in ^humiliation. 

I HAVE borne scorn and hatred, 
I have borne wrong and shame, 
Earth's proud ones have reproached me. 

For Christ's thrice-blessed name : 
Where God's seal set the fairest, 

They've stamped their foulest brand ; 
But judgment shines like noonday 
In Immanuel's land. 



OH, deem not they are blest alone 
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep : 
For God who pities man, hath shown 
A blessing for the eyes that weep. 

The light of smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with tears : 

And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier years. 

There is a day of sunny rest 

For every dark and troubled night : 

And grief may bide an evening guest, 
But joy shall come with early light. 

Nor let the good man's trust depart^ 
Though life its common gifts deny : 

Though with a pierced and broken heart 
And spurned of 7nen he goes to die. 



gongs in i^nmiliation. 87 

For God has marked each sorrowing day, 

And numbered every secret tear, 
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay, 

For all his children suffer here ! 

Bryant. 



THE moon was pallid but not faint ; 
And beautiful as some fair saint, 
Serenely moving on her way 
In hours of trial and dismay. 
As if she heard the voice of God, 
Unharmed with naked feet she trod 
Upon the hot and burning stars, 
As on the glowing coals and bars. 
They were to prove her strength, and try 
Her holiness and purity. 

Longfellow. 



HEART, my heart, be strong ! 
Thou art shrinking from the pain, 
Wilt thou seek a rest from pain ? 
Seek rest — while on earth remain 
Sin and shame and wrong ? 



88 Songs in ^mniliation. 



Heart, my heart, seek naught ; 
Naught for self. Thou art so lonely ? 
Christ into the desert lonely 
Calleth great souls : — Heart, so only 

Can thy work be wrought. 

Heart, my heart, be still ; 
Thou art crying out for love, 
Breaking, for the lack of love. 
Love abides with God above — 

Bear thou here the ill. 



A. Werner. 



BLEST, by whom most the cross is known ; 
God whets us on his grinding-stone ; 
Full many a garden 's dressed in vain, 
Where tears of sorrow never rain. 
In fiercest flames the gold is tried, 
In griefs the Christian 's purified. 

Midst crosses, faith her triumph knows, 
The palm-tree pressed more vigorous grows ; 
Go, tread the grapes beneath thy feet. 
The stream that flows is full and sweet. 
In trouble, virtues grow and shine. 
Like pearls beneath the ocean brine. 



00ngs in ^^nmiliation. 89 

Crosses abound, love seeks the skies ; 
Blow the rude winds, the flames arise : 
When hopeless gloom the welkin shrouds, 
The sun comes laughing through the clouds ; 
The cross makes pure affection glow, 
Like oil that on the fire we throw. 



Who wears the cross prays oft and well ; 
Bruised herbs send forth the sweetest smell ; 
Were ships ne'er tossed by stormy wind, 
The pole star who would care to find ? 
Had David spent no darksome hours, 
His sweetest songs had ne'er been ours. 



From trouble springs the longing hope ; 
From the deep vale we mount the slope ; 
Who treads the desert's dreariest way, 
For Canaan most will long and pray ; 
Here, finds the trembling dove no rest, 
Flies to the ark, and builds her nest. 



Oh, think upon that jewel fair, 
And heaviest griefs are light as air ! 

Tr. from Schmolkk, by Gurnky. 



9^ Songs in ^nntiliation. 

IN a far-away land on a stone it is written, 
Chiseled in characters fair to the sight, 
In the place where He labored, loved and was smitten, 
*'The way of the Cross is the way of light." 

Beautiful words ! forever outsending- 

The story of Christ and His wonderful might, 

Telling of love to the lowest one bending, 
" The way of the Cross is the way of light." 

Beautiful truth, on my life be thy shining ! 

Sun of my day and star of my night ; 
So shall I walk unmoved, unrepining. 

" The way of the Cross is the way of light." 



FRET not thyself so sorely, heart of mine, 
For that the pain hath roughly broke thy rest,- 
That thy wild flowers lie dead upon thy breast, 
Whereon the cloud hath ceased to shine. 



Fret not that thou art seamed, and scarred and torn ; 

That clods are piled where tinted vetches were ; 

That long worms crawl to light, and brown rifts 
bare 
Of green and tender grasses, widely yawn. 



Songs in i^nmiUation. 91 

God's hand is on the plow. So be thou still. 

Thou canst not see Him, for thine eyes are dim ; 

But wait in patience, put thy trust in Him — 
Give thanks for love, and leave thee to His will. 

Ah ! in due time the lowering clouds shall rain 
Soft drops on my parched furrows ; I shall sow 
In tears and prayers, and green corn blades will 
grow ;— 

I shall not wish the wild flowers back again. 

I shall be glad that I did work and weep — 

Be glad, O God, my slumbering soul did wake — 
Be glad my heart did heave and break 

Beneath the plow — when angels come to reap. 



OOD night, my foe ! not all the wrong is thine, 
^^ My share I own ; 

Forgive ! we human know one word divine — 
The sun goes down ! 



Good night, good friend ! though poor my gifts to thee 

I will not fret ; 
The richer thou whose bounty is so free, 

And sweet my debt. 



92 00ngs in ^nmiliation. 



No longer to revenge or to repay 
I strive or seek, 

Empty I came, most empty go away, 
Empty and weak. 



As one who wakes no more to smile or weep 

Another day. 
So would I humbly lay me down to sleep, 
And humbly say, — 



O Thou, who hadst not where to lay Thy head, 

As poor were I, 
Didst not Thy mercy make for me a bed 

Whereon to die. 

Harriet McEv/en Kimbali.. 



BE still, my soul ; Jehovah loveth thee ; 
Fret not nor murmur at thy humbled lot ; 
Though dark and lone thy journey seems to be, 

Be sure that thou art ne'er by Him forgot. 
He ever loves; then trust Him, trust Him still, 
Let all thy care be this, the doing of His will. 

HORATIUS BONAR. 



Songs in humiliation. 93 



o 



H ! tried heart — 
God knows ! 
Not you nor I 

Who reach our hands for gifts 
That wise love must deny — 
We blunder, where we fain would do our best — 
Until aweary, then we cry, " Do Thou the rest ; " 
And in His hands the tangled skein we place 
Of our poor blind weaving with a shamed face — 
A.11 trust of ours He sacredly will keep; 
So tired heart — 
God knows ! 
Go thou to work or sleep. 

Mabel . 



IN this cruel fire of sorrow, 
Cast thy heart. Nor faint, nor wail, 
Let thy hand be firm and steady, 

Do not let thy spirit quail. 
Wait thou till the trial passes, 

Take thou then thy heart again, 
For as gold is tried by fire, 
So a heart is tried by pain. 

I shall know by the gleam and glitter 
Of the golden chain you wear. 

By your heart's calm strength in loving, 
Of the fire you had to bear. 



94 Songs in ^tttniliation. 



Beat on, true heart, forever ! 

Shine ! bright, strong, golden chain, 
Blessing the cleansing fire, 

And the furnace of living pain ! 

Frances Ridley Havergal. 



HOW dark this world v^ould be 
If wrhen deceived and wounded here, 

We could not fly to Thee ! 
The friends, who in our sunshine live, 

When winter comes, are flown ; 
And he who has but tears to give. 

Must weep those tears alone. 
But thou wilt heal that broken heart, 

Which, like the plants that throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part. 

Breathes sweetness out of woe. 

When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 

And e'en the hope that threw 
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears. 

Is dimmed and vanished too, 
Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom. 

Did not Thy Wing of Love 
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom 

Our Peace-branch from above ? 



Bongs in ^nmiliation. 95 

Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright 

With more than rapture's ray ; 
As darkness shows us worlds of light 

We never saw by day ! 

Thomas Moore. 



CAUGHT in the bitter net of circumstance 
We strive and faint amid each baffling fold, 
While careless fingers take or miss the chance, 

Or idle with the precious thing they hold ; 
And favored darlings of the w^orld look down 

From the fair height, by fate or birthright given, 
Wondering to see how under fortune's frown 
Along steep paths our tired feet are driven. 

Carest Thou not ? Our prized ambitions fail. 

Our dearest droop, in dull days shadowed too, 
Their young eyes forced to read the weary tale. 

While their vain struggles our past pangs renew; 
We fain would see, and save, and live, and laugh ; 

Fain would have honest heart and open hand ; 
Ah ! hope and love make but a breaking staff, 

When 'mid our shattered dreams alone we stand. 

Carest Thou not, O Lord ? Old age creeps on, 
Blighting each lingering bloom we dare to cherish; 

A little while, and the last day is done. 
Carest Thou not, O Lord, because we perish ? 



96 Songs in ^humiliation. 



Oh, stretch the right hand, strong to stay and save ! 

Speak, through wild winds above,wild seas beneath; 
Say, despite failing life and opening grave, 

" Why will ye doubt, O ye of little faith ? " 



WE ask Thy Peace, O Lord ! 
Through storm and fear and strife, 
To light and guide us on, 

Through a long and struggling life; 
While no success or gai7i 

Shall cheer the desperate fight. 
Or nerve what the world calls 

Our wasted might : — 
Give us Thy Peace, O Lord, 
Divine and blest. 

Adelaide Proctor. 




V. 



SONGS IN POVERTY, 




' ' Who through long days of labor, 
And nights devoid of ease, 
Still heard in his soul the music 
Of wonderful melodies." 



** There is always hope for a man that actually and 
earnestly works." 

*' A man's a man for a.' that." 



"What is really best for us lies always within our 
reach." 



*' I am the minister of Mars, 

The strongest star among the stars ! 

My songs of power prelude. 
The march and battle of man's life 
And for the suffering and the strife 

I give him Fortitude ! " 



SONGS IN POVERTY. 



*' Let us wipe our tears, lift up our heads, and gird ourselves for 
brave and cheerful toil." 



THE helper of his mother, 
A faithful Hebrew lad. 
For sister and for brother 

Christ wrought with spirit glad ; 
And made that cottage lowly, 

That work-bench by the door, 
A labor lesson holy 
To love for evermore. 



O sing ! ye tired and tearful, 
What this sweet story saith ; 

For all that *s brave and cheerful 
Comes out of Nazareth ! 



loo Songs in JJotJerts. 

Let serving hands fly faster, 
New years new burdens bring, — 

Enough ! if liice your Master, 
The Carpenter and King. 

M. WooLSEY Stryker. 



Happiest man among men, 

Who, with hammer or chisel or pencil, with rudder 

or ploughshare or pen, 
Laboreth ever with hope through the morning of 

life. 

Round swings the hammer of industry, quickly the 

sharp chisel rings. 
And the heart of the toiler has throbbings that stir 

not the bosom of kings, — 
He the true ruler and conqueror, he the true king of 

his race, 
Who nerveth his arm for life's combat, and looks the 

strong world in the face. 

MacCarthy. 



LET us be patient with our lot, 
And hopeful of the morrow, 
Remembering there liveth not 
A soul exempt from sorrow ; 



Songs in JJoomg. loi 

And even should the cruel hand 

Of Poverty oppress us, 
Its griefs we better can withstand, 

If hopeful hearts possess us. 

Contentment cometh not from wealth. 

Nor ease from costly living ; 
The best of blessings peace and health 

Are not of fortune's giving; 
A happy heart dependeth not, 

On fortune's fickle treasures. 
But rather seeks a lowly lot, 

Content with simple pleasures. 

The ways of God are just and wise 

To every living creature, 
In every ill there underlies 

Some compensating feature, 
And when the lowly feel the rod 

Most sorely on them pressing. 
Full often is the living God 

Most lavish in His blessine. 

JosiAH Moody Fletcher. 



OH weary heart of the toiler ! Turn 
From the maze of doubt and the dust of strife, 
And look for once, on the empty urn, 
And the wide-strewn ashes of vanished life. 



I02 Songs in IJotJertg. 

And then, beholding thy better hope 

With starward gaze and dauntless brow, 

See the pearly gates which the angels ope; 
This is the fruit of the topmost bough. 

William Byrd Chrisholm. 



* Labor are est or are : 

We, black-visaged sons of toil, 
From the coal mine and the anvil, 

And the delving of the soil, — 
From the loom, the wharf, the warehouse, 

And the ever-whirling mill. 
Out of grim and hungry silence 

Raise a weak small voice and shrill ; — 
Lab or are est or are : 

Man dost hear us ? God, He will. 

We who just can keep from starving 

Sickly wives, — not always mild ; 
Trying not to curse Heaven's bounty 

When it sends another child, — 
We, who worn out, doze on Sundays 

O'er the Book we strive to read, 
Cannot understand the parson 

Or the catechism and creed, 
Lab or are est or are : — 

Then, good sooth, we pray indeed. 

* Labor is prayer. 



Bongs in JJcDartg. 103 

Laborare est orare : 

Hear it, ye of spirit poor, 
Who sit crouching at the threshold 

While your brethren force the door ; 
Ye whose ignorance stands wringing 

Rough hands, seamed with toil, nor dares 
Lift so much as eyes to heaven, — 

Lo ! all life this truth declares, 
Laborare est orare j 

And the whole earth rings with prayers. 

Mjss Mulock. 



HE looks abroad into the varied field 
Of nature ; and though poor, perhaps, compared 
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, 
Calls the delightful scenery all his own. 
His are the mountains, and the valleys his, 
And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy 
With a propriety none can feel. 
But who, with filial confidence inspired, 
Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye. 
And smiling say, " My Father made them all ! " 

Yes, ye may fill your garners, ye that reap 
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good 
In senseless riot ; but ye will not find 



I04 Songs in JJotJortg. 

In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance, 
A Hberty like his, who unimpeached 
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, 
Appropriates nature as his Father's work. 

COWPER. 



My wine has run 
Indeed out of my cup, and there is none 
To gather up the bread of my repast. 
Scattered and trampled, — yet I find some good 
In earth's green herbs, and streams that bubble up 
Clear from the darkling ground, — content until 
I sit with angels before better food. 

E. B. Browning, 



IF by our toil another's feet may rise 
And climb the starry heights we fain would gain, 
Into a purer air and clearer skies, 

Surely our work shall not have been in vain. 

Laura B. Boyce. 



Thy gifts sustain 
The body's needs, but poverty and pain 
Oft minister to higher wants than these 

The spirit sees. 



Songs in IJouerts. 105 

Then come what will, 
Prosperity or failure, good or ill, 
Unknown or understood, still be adored 

Thy ways, O Lord ! 

Christian Register. 



NOT all who seemed to fail have failed indeed ; 
Not all who fail have therefore worked in vain ; 
For all our acts to many issues lead ; 
And out of earnest purpose, pure and plain. 
Enforced by honest toil of hand or brain. 
The Lord will fashion, in his own good time, — 
Be this the laborer's proudly humble creed, — 
Such ends as to His wisdom fittest chime 
With His vast love's eternal harmonies. 



FASTEN your soul so high that constantly 
The smile of your heroic cheer may float 
Above the floods of earthly agonies. 

E. B. Browning. 



LABOR ! all labor is noble and holy ! 
Let thy great deed be thy prayer to thy God. 



Frances S. Osgood. 



io6 00ngs in ^ovttt^. 



SHALL one who does God's image bear, 
And shares each day his tender care, 
Forgotten live and die ? 
Did Christ descend the rich to bless, 
And turn from sin to righteousness. 
And all the poor pass by ? 

Ah no ! with poverty he dwelt, 
And want in every form he felt. 

E'en to the want of friends, — 
To-day, as yesterday the same, 
This friend, the humble poor may claim, 

To all his love extends. 

A. J. S., ?« " JVew Hampshire Poeis.'*^ 



THE heart grows richer that its lot is poor, — 
God blesses want with larger sympathies, — 
Love enters gladliest at the humble door, 
And makes the cot a palace with his eyes. 

Lowell. 



WHATE'ER God does is well ! 
His children find it so. 
Some He doth not with plenty bless, 
Yet loves them not the less ; 



Songs in |j0t)jettg. 107 

But draws their hearts unto Himself away. 
O hearts, obey ! 

Whate'er God does is well, 

Whether He gives or takes ! 

And what we from His hand receive 

Suffices us to live. 
He takes and gives while yet He loves us still. 

Then love His will. 



And what can our will do ? 
We cannot reap from what we sow 
But what His power makes grow. 
Sometimes He doth all other good destroy, 

To be thy joy. 
And He our God knows all our weary days. 

Come ! give Him praise. 

SCHMOLKE, 16x2. 



COME in, O gracious Form ! I say — 
O Workman, share my house of clay ! 
Then 1, at bench, or desk, or oar, 
With last, or needle, net, or pen. 

As thou in Nazareth of yore, 
Shall do the Father's will again. 



io8 Songs in J)0t)ertB, 



IN Poverty's dark cell I sit, 
And gaze upon the heavenly faces, 
That bid me to those luminous spaces 
Through which at length, my soul shall flit. 



WHETHER winds blow foul or fair, 
Through want and woe and toil or care, 
Still will I struggle up to Thee : 
That though my winter days be long, 
And brighter skies refuse to come, 
My life no less may sweetly bloom, 
And none the less be full of song. 



WHY art thou full of anxious fear 
How thou shalt be sustained and fed ? 
He who hath made and placed thee here 

Will give thee needful daily bread. 
Canst thou not trust His rich and bounteous hand, 
Who feeds all living things on sea and land ? 
Be thou content. 



Songs in JJotJertg. 109 

He who doth teach the little birds 
To find their meat in field and wood. 

Who gives the countless flocks and herds 
Each day their needful drink and food, 

Thy hunger too will surely satisfy, 

And all thy wants in His good time supply. 
Be thou content. 

Paul Gkrhardt. 



T 



HE Master, ere His work was done, 
Breathed this sweet message for his own 
As near to death he drew, — 
" My peace I leave with you." 



" My peace " — but not the loneliness 
Nor friend, nor home, nor child to bless, — 
But not his scorned and hated name, 
Nor yet his poverty and shame ; 

These bitter things he knew, — 

But left his peace for you. 



Beloved, take the gift anew ; 

It passeth knowledge, deep and true. 



no 



Songs in IJoaertn. 



Tender as is the brooding dove, 
And stronger than the heart of love, 

Its home — the Father's breast — 

Was left to bring you rest. 

Mrs. Luther Kekne. 





VI, 



SONGS IN CAPTIVITY. 




Dome up, O heaven ! yet higher o'er my head ! 
Hack ! back, horizon ! widen out my world ! " 



** Let star-wheels and angel wings, with their holy win- 

nowings. 
Keep beside you all your way, 
Lest in passion you should dash, with a blind and heavy 

crash, 
Up against the thick-bossed shield of God's judgment in 

the field." 



God's greatness flows around our incompleteness ; 
Round our restlessness — His rest/' 




SONGS IN CAPTIVITY. 



There went a swift bird singing past my cell— 
O Love and Freedom ! ye are lovely things ! " 



J SIT upon a cypress bough 
Close to the gate ; and I fling my song 
Over the gate and through the mail 
Of the warden angels marshaled strong, — 

Over the gate and after you ! 
And the warden angels let it pass, 
(Because the poor brown bird, alas ! 

Sings in the garden sweet and true.) 
And I build my song of high, pure notes. 

Note over note, height over height, 

Till I strike the arch of the Infinite ; 
And I bridge abysmal agonies 
With strong, clear calms of harmonies. 

{Song,) Exiled human creatures 

Let your hope grow larger, 
Larger grows the vision 
Of the new delights. 



114 Songs in Captimtg, 



From this chain of Nature's 
God is the discharger : 
And the actual prison 
Opens to your sight. 

Hear us singing gently 
Exiled is not lost ! 
God, above the starlight, 
God above the patience, 
Shall at last present ye 
Guerdons worth the cost. 
Patiently enduring, 
Painfully surrounded. 
Listen how we love you — 
Hope the uttermost. 
Waiting for that curing 
Which exalts the wounded, 
Hear us sing above you- — 
Exiled but not lost I 

E, B. Browning. 



A LITTLE bird I am. 
Shut from the fields of air 
And in my cage I sit and sing 

To him who placed me there. 
Well pleased a prisoner to be 
Because it pleaseth thee. 



QouQQ in daptimtg. 115 

Naught have I else to do, 

I sing the whole clay long, 
And he whom most I love to please 

Doth listen to my song ; 
He caught and bound my wandering wing, 
But still he bends to hear me sing. 

My cage confines me 'round, 

Abroad I cannot fly ; 
But though my wing is closely bound 

My heart's at liberty ; 
My prison walls cannot control 
The flight, the freedom of the soul. 

Madam Guyon's '* Prison Hymn,'''' 



ORROW and silence are strong, and patient 
' endurance is godlike. 

Longfellow. 



GOD plumeth many a spirit, still withholding 
space to soar, 
Bids it wait with folded pinion till He openeth wide 

the door : 
Seals a sense that still respondeth dimly to some dis- 
tant good. 
Stirring all the mortal nature with an unborn angel- 
hood. 

Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. 



ii6 Songs in Captiuitj}. 



O LITTLE bird ! that all the weary clay 
Art beating thy soft breast against the wire, 
And singing many a weak and feeble lay, 
Thy song lost in the passion of desire, 

O dost thou dream of winnowing the air 

At dewy dawn — untrammeled, gay and free, 

Feeling again — oh ! bliss beyond compare — 
The olden thrill of thy lost liberty ? 

Thou restless one ! Dost dream of meadow rills, 
Speeding away the daisied meadows through ; 

Of sighing pines upon far, lonely hills; 
Of myriad voices that thy freedom knew : 

Of silent nights in forests darkly deep, 
Lit dimly by a pale moon sailing high, 

When gentle winds rocked thee and thine to sleep 
With many a softly murmured lullaby ? 

Unhappy one 1 I'd tell thee if I could, 
The uselessnt'ss of warring against fate. 

Fold thy soft wings, and, as in leafy wood, 
Sing thy best song, and for thy freedom wait. 

Perhaps e'er long, in notes of ecstacy, 

Thy song shall scorn thy narrow prison bars, 

And in a burst of rapturous melody 
Seek endless freedom 'mongst the distant stars. 



Songs in Claptimtj. 117 

Then all forgotten will thy longing be : 
Contented thou wilt occupy thy place : 

For thy sweet song, the supreme part of thee, 
Will still be sounding through the fields of space. 

Ada Gale. 



I KNOW a dark and lonely dell, 

1 A forest nook where elves might dwell. 

So lost in shade, so far away, 

It seems forgotten of the day. 

But in the waving hemlocks high 

There is an island of blue sky — 

A little space, o'er which are blown 

White clouds, and where the stars look down. 

'Tis so with thee, forsaken heart, 
However cold and lost thou art, 
However lost to human ken. 
And narrow sympathies of men. 

Look up ! thou hast the strip of sky; 
Thine outlook opens wide and high. 
Where loves, like stars, forever shine. 
And sympathies are deep, divine. 

Jambs Buckham. 



ii8 Songs in ffiaptimtg. 

HE is the freeman whom the truth makes free, 
And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain 
That hellish foes confederate for his harm 
Can wind around him, but he casts it off 
With as much ease as Samson with his green withes. 

His freedom is the same in every state ; 
And no condition of this changeful life, 
So manifold in cares, whose every day 
Brings its own evil with it, makes it less. 
For he has wings that neither sickness, pain, 
Nor penury can cripple or confine ; 
No nook so narrow but he spreads them there 
With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds 
His body bound ; but knows not what a range 
His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain; 
And that to bind, him is a vain attempt, 
Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells. 

COWPER. 



H 



OPE in our souls is king ; 
And the king never dies ! 

Longfellow. 



WERE there no night we could not read the stars, 
The heavens would turn into a blinding glare; 
Freedom is best seen through prison bars. 
And rough seas make the haven passing fair. 



Bongs in Cajjtimts. 119 



We cannot measure joys but by their loss, 
When blessings fade away we see them then ; 

Our richest clusters grow around the cross, 
And in the night-time angels sing to men. 



The seed must first lie buried deep in earth, 

Before the lily opens to the sky ; 
So, "light is sown," and gladness has its birth, 

In the dark deeps where we can only cry. 



Come then, my soul, be brave to bear ; 

Thy life is bruised that it may be more sweet ; 
The cross will soon be left, the crown we'll wear; 

Nay, we will cast it at our Saviour's feet. 

Henry Burton. 



HOMEWARD the swift-winged seagull takes its 
flight, 
The ebbing tide breaks softly on the sand ; 
The sunlit boats draw shoreward for the night ; 

The shadows deepen over sea and land ; 
Be still, my soul, thine hour shall also come ; 
Behold, one evening God shall lead thee home. 



I20 Songs in daptimtg- 

THE earth, O prisoned soul, is thine. 
Rise up ! come forth ! in sun and air 
Claim and possess thy rightful share. 
Come forth ! in love and life divine. 
Thou child of God ! the world is thine. 



IN weariness I wait and pray, 
As waits the restless for the day : 
Watching the still starlight ! 
As waits the soldier in reserve. 
While longing stirs through every nerve ! 

This hour in patience let me wait. 
Dawn comes not premature or late. 

Then better far than I have sought, 
And better far than I have thought, 

God will give what is best. 



ETERNAL spirit of the chainless mind ! 
Brightest in dungeons. Liberty ! thou art. 
For there thy habitation is the heart. 

Byron. 



Songs in Cra:ptimta. 121 

OH, our Father, our Father, 
Hearest Thou not our pain ? 
We can only cry as the young birds cry, 

Again, and yet again ; 
Blind, and helpless, and almost mad, 
And shall our crying be vain ? 

Oh ! our Father, our Father, 

We have heard them speak of Thee, 

But our eyes are dim and our hearts are dull, 
And we know not if Thou be — 

The yoke-bound neck, and the fettered hand, 
Bowed to the dust are we. 



Oh ! our Father, our Father, 

Dwelling in love and light ! 
There is none to guide us, or hear our cry. 

In the weary, pathless night. 
Earth is burdened with cruel wrong — 

Wilt thou not do us right ? 

A. Werner, in " The King of the Silver Ciiy.^ 



IS not the night all dark, and murky with vapors 
of Death ? 
Stars there are none to see, and the rank mist chokes 
our breath. 



122 00ngs in CTaptitJitg. 

And the chains have cut to the soul. Nay now — 

have we souls at all ? 
All man's glories stripped from us — have we yet 

lower to fall ? . . . . 
Since we have no sunrise, no moon nor stars to 

shine ! 



Listen, O helpless and weary ! the time is coming — 

but wait ! — 
Lift up your eyes in hope to the heaven's eastern 

gate ! — 
It shall glow with gold anon, — and thefi there is 

work for you / . . . . 

A. W. , in Cambridge Review, 



Behold the throng 
Of wounded souls that bear some gloomy wrong. 
Ah ! sorrowing friend, what multitudes to-day 
Walk by thy side, unknown, the thorny way, 
And walk in darkness, praying for the light. 
Like one who walks his chamber in the night, 
And ever through the window looks away 
Into the chilly night, and longs for day ! 



Songs in Cra:ptimtp. 123 

One . . source remains to soothe thy breast, 
The one great comfort which inrludes the rest : 
Submit thy sorrow and thy soul to God, 
And learn what peace it is to kiss His rod, 
Who answers wishes ere they turn to prayers 
And with his blessing takes us unawares — 
Who girds us, though we know Him not, and stands 
Above us always with his helping hands. 
As when a little child, returned from play, 
Finds the door closed and latched across its way. 
Against the door, with infant push and strain, 
It gathers all its strength and strives in vain ; — 
Unseen within, a loving father stands. 
And lifts the iron latch with easy hands ; 
Then, as he lightly draws the door aside. 
He hides behind it, while, with baby pride 
And face aglow, in struts the little one. 
Flushed and rejoiced to think what it has done ! 
So, when men find across life's rugged way 
Strong doors of trouble, barred from day to day. 
And strive with all their power of knees and hands, 
Unseen within, their Heavenly Father stands, 
And lifts each iron latch, while men pass through, 
Flushed and rejoiced to think what they can do. 

Abraham Perry Miller. 



SHUT in with tears that are spent in vain, 
Shut in with the dull companionship of pain; 
Shut in with the changeless days and hours, 
And the bitter knowledge of failing powers. 



124 Songs in Ca:ptimts. 

Shut in with dreams of days gone by, 
With buried joys that are bom to die; 
Shut in with hopes that have lost their zest, 
And leave but a longing after rest. 

Shut in with a trio of angels sweet, 
Patience and grace all pain to meet, 
And faith that can suffer, and stand and wait, 
And lean on the promises strong and great. 



UNTO the hills I lift mine eyes," 
And following them I seek the skies 
To which they point and seem to say 
Christ is our strength by night as day. 

I take the lesson to my heart. 
Dear Lord, let me not grow apart 
From that svveet faith which bids hope rise 
And like those mountains seek the skies, 
Where thou dost dwell in all thy might, 
To guard thy people day and night. 

" Unto the hills," yes, unto Thee 
Mine eyes shall turn most hopefully. 
For hills aiid walls shall crumble, Lord, 
But they who rest upon Thy word 
Shall stand secure, and know Thee true, 
'^hough skies of life be gray or blue. 




VII 



SONGS IN FEAR 




** He has not learned the lesson of a life who does not 
every day surmount a fear.'^ 

** Write on your doors the saying, wise and old, 
' Be bold ! be bold ! ' and everywhere ' Be bold ! ' " 

** Go forth and meet the shadowy future without fear, 
and with a manly heart." 

*' Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be 
afraid ! " 




SONGS IN FEAR. 



"Go and dare before you die ! '* 
" Our valors are our best gods." 



TIS the bold who win the race, 
Whether for gold, or love, or name; 
'Tis the true ones always face 
Dangers and trials, and win a place, 
A niche in the fane of fame. 



WORKMAN of God, oh, lose not heart ! 
But learn what God is like ; 
And in the darkest battle-field, 
Thou shalt know where to strike. 

" Songs of Dcvotion." 



128 Bongs in £cax. 



Go breathe it in the ear 
Of all who doubt and fear, 
And say to them, *• Be of good cheer ! " 

Longfellow. 



THERE is a grandeur in the soul that dares 
To live out all the life God lit within ; 
That battles with the passions hand to hand, 
And wears no mail, and hides behind no shield ; 
That plucks its joy in the shadow of death's wing, 
That drains with one deep draught the wine of life, 
And that with fearless foot and heaven-turned eyes, 
May stand upon a dizzy precipice, 
High over the abyss of ruin and not fall. 

Sara J. Clarkb. 



PLAN not, nor scheme, but calmly wait; 
His choice is best. 
While blind and erring is thy sight; 
His wisdom sees and judges right ; 
So trust and rest. 

Strive not, nor struggle ; thy poor might 

Can never wrest 
The meanest thing to serve thy will ; 
All power is His alone ; be still, 

And trust and wait. 



Songs in £cax. 129 

What dost thou fear ? His wisdom reigns 

Supreme, confessed; 
His power is infinite ; His love 
Thy deepest, fondest dreams above ; 

So trust and rest. 

Macduff. 



WHAT foe can injure me ? 
Why bid me like a bird 
Before the fowler flee ? 
The Lord is on His heavenly throne, 
And He will shield and save His own. 

H. F. Lyte.. 



STRONG are the mountains, Lord, but stronger 
Thou ! 
Where beats tlie tempest on the hither side. 
Beneath their shelter bloom the vine and rose ; 

So do Thy choosen ones in Thee abide. 
Nor fear the storm-wind though it wildly blows, 
All undisturbed in their secure repose. 



I30 Songs in £eat. 



OUR very perils shut us in, 
To thy supporting care; 
We venture on the awful deep, 
And find our courage there. 

Oh, there are heavenly heights to reach 

In many a fearful place 
Where the poor timid heir of God 

Lies blindly on his face ; 

Lies languishing for life divine 

That he shall never see 
Till he go forward at Thy sign 

And trust himself to Thee. 

Anna Letitia Waring. 



WHEN sins and follies long forgot 
Upon thy-tortured conscience prey, 
Oh, come to God, and fear Him not : 
His love shall sweep them all away; 
Pains of hell at look of His 
Change to calm content and bliss. 



LET us be like the bird, one instant lighted 
Upon a twig that swings ; 
He feels it yield, but sings on unaffrighted, 
Knowing he has his wings. 

Victor Hugo, 7>. dy Edwin Arnold. 



Qon%Q in Star. 131 

DOWN to the borders of the silent land 
He goes with halting feet : 
He dares not trust ; he cannot understand 

The blessedness complete, 
That waits for God's beloved at His right hand. 

He dreads to see God's face ; for though the pure 

Beholding Him are blest, 
Yet in His sight no evil shall endure ; 

So still, with fear oppressed. 
He looks within and cries, " Who can be sure ?" 

The world beyond is strange : the golden streets, 

The palaces so fair. 
The seraphs singing in the shining seats — 

The glory everywhere; 
And to his soul he solemnly repeats 

The visions of the book. '* Alas ! " he cries, 

" That world is all too grand ; 
Among those splendors and those majesties 

I would not dare to stand : 
For me, a lowlier heaven would well suffice ! " 

Yet faithful in his lot this saint hath stood 
Through service and through pain ; 

The Lord Christ he has followed, doing good ; 
Sure, dying must be gain 

To one who, living, hath done what he could. 



132 Songs in Scat, 

The light is fading in the tired eyes, 

The weary race is run ; 
Not as the victor that doth seize the prize, 

But as the fainting one 
He nears the verge of the eternities. 

And now the end has come, and now he sees 

The happy, happy shore ; 
Oh fearful, faint, distrustful soul, are these 

The things thou feard'st before, 
The awful majesties that spoiled thy peace ? 

This land is home ; no stranger art thou here ; 

Sweet and familiar words 
From voices silent long salute thine ear ; 

And winds and songs of birds 
And bees and blooms and sweet perfumes are near. 

The seraphs — they are men of kindly mien ; 

The gems and robes — but signs 
Of minds all radiant, and of hearts washed clean ; 

The glory — such as shines 
Wherever faith or hope or love is seen. 

And thee, O doubting child ! the Lord of grace 

Whom thou didst fear to see — 
He knows thy sin — but look upon his face ! 

Doth it not shine on thee 
With a great light of love that fills the place ? 



Songs in Scat. 133 

Oh, happy soul, be thankful now and rest ! 

Heaven is a goodly land ; 
And God is love ; and those He loves are blest. 

Now thou dost understand 
The least thou hast is better than the best 

That thou did'st hope for : now upon thine eyes 

The new life opens fair; 
Before thy feet the blessed journey lies 

Through homelands everywhere ; 
And heaven to thee is all a sweet surprise. 

Washington Gladden. 



LEAVE God to order all thy ways, 
And hope in Him what'er betide; 
Thou'lt find Him in the evil days 

An all-sufficient strength and guide ; 
Who trusts in God's unchanging love, 
Builds on a rock that naught can move. 

Georgb Newman. 



BE not amazed at life. Tis still 
The mode of God with his elect, 
Their hopes exactly to fulfill, 

In times and ways they least expect. 

Dean Alford. 



j34 00ng0 in Scat. 

I TREMBLE at the thought of heaven.' 
She said. He wondered why. 
" At heaven ! whose glories make us glad, 

And more than glad to die ? '* — 
He asked her, puzzled, half displeased. 

Her dreamy eyes, along 
The distant hills looked forth : " I know." 

She said, " the raptured song 
That holy souls have tried to make 

Of heaven ; how they say, 
' Thou hast no shore, fair ocean, 

Thou hast no time, bright day ; 
With jasper glow thy bulwarks, 

Thy streets with emeralds blaze, 
The sardius and the topaz 

Unite in thee their rays,' — 

I know 

*' But I, who am no saint inspired, 

But I, who never had 
More than a common life to live. 

Nor much to make me glad. 
Nor grand experiences that dig 

Deep channels in the soul. 
How shall I bear this heaven's vast 

Ecstatic, perfect whole ? 
Perfection ! I cannot conceive 

Perfection, and I fear-^ 
You see, I could not take it in, 

Because, I'm so used here 



00ng0 in £eax. 135 

To tempered pleasures and small flaws 

In all my dearest things, 
That to its full capacity 

Joy in me never swings. 
What if the splendid, perfect heaven 

Found me thus lacking ; such 
I could not comprehend it all, 

And could not bear so much ! 
Like this, maybe : — a man born deaf 

Hears suddenly ; and lo ! 
The first breath in the world of sound 

His opened ears shall know. 
Comes thrilling from an orchestra 

Perfect ! Oh, yes ! — and yet. 
The man might swoon beneath the shock 

His startled nerves have met. 
/am afraid ! " 

" I thank you, for that word," he said ; 

*' There is another sense ; 
We miss it (so I think), always, 

Until we do go hence. 
We know there is another power, 

Though not whether its tense 
Is that we might have, or shall have^ 

This unknown sense, from whence 
We hope as great things, surely. 

As the kitten ten days old. 
When her blind eyes, finding their use, 

To light delayed, unfold. 



13^ Songs in £cax. 

And so perhaps, this dormant sense, 

Not needed until then, 
May be the very thing vouchsafed 

To bear the glory, when 
The righteous in the kingdom shine, 

And He, in garments white 
Sits on the throne, whom none can see 

And live, to bear the sight. 
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, 

Those things he doth prepare. 
Perhaps, because, until that sense, 

The look they could not bear. 
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard — 

Oh, no ! not yet, not yet, — 
But rest ; but w^ait ; anticipate ; 

And, waiting, do not let 
Thy heart bo troubled ! The man, deaf, 

Not at the sound would start 
And marvel, but the new found sense j 

The faculty, his heart 
Would fill with joy unspeakable. 

And on its own strong wings 
He would be borne above himself, 

Above all lesser things. 
The hospitality of heaven 

Will not make earth's mistakes. 
When a tired, timid woman, strange, 

Upon that threshold wakes. 
It will not be with blare of full 

Processionals they meet 



Songs in irear. 137 

And honor her. With tender touch, 

Tones very low and sweet, 
Ways home-hke she can understand, 

As if before, there, she had been. 
I think they will come softly forth 

And silent lead her in, — 
And lead her in, to see the face 

That anywhere would be 
The one thing making heaven home, 

Heaven to you, to me." 

Ella M. Bakkr. 



1HAVE a sin of fear, that when Fve spun 
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore : 
But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy sun 

Shall shine as heretofore, 
And having done that, .... 
I fear no more. 

Bishop Donnk. 



SEE the Lord, thy keeper, stand 
Omnipotently near ; 
Lo ! He holds thee by thy hand, 
And banishes thy fear ; 



13^ Songs in Scat. 

Shadows with His wings thy head ; 

Guards from all impending harms ; 
Round thee and beneath are spread 

The everlasting arms. 

Charles Wesley. 



WHY that look of dark dismay ? 
Know ye not that God is near — 
That thy God doth guard thy way ? 
Hast forgot His kind assurance — 
He will strengthen, He will guide ? 
Art thou lacking in endurance ? 
Art thou falling from His side ? 

He hath told thee 
Thou art His, and He is thine, 

That His right hand shall uphold thee, 
Dost ask more of God divine ? 
Oh, then onward ! do not fear, 
Ne'er forget that He is near. 

Arthur C. Grissom. 



I KNOW not what the future hath 
Of marvel or surprise, 
Assured alone that life and death 
His mercy underlies. 



Bongs in Star. 139 

And if my heart and flesh are weak 

To bear an untried pain, 
The bruised reed He will not break 

But strengthen and sustain. 

Whittihr. 



WHAT a strange Being holds me in his might, 
And must forever have his way with me ! 
Oh ! what if fear should, after all, be right ? 
Then what a terror nearing God must be ! 
With such unfailing gifts of life and light, 
Why should I dread the Giver's self to see ? 

I went my daily ways thus questioning. 
My foremost care a caged soul of song 

That met me always with a frightened wing, 
As fearing I had come to do it wrong. 

Often I said : " How passing strange a thing. 
When I have fed its little life so long ! " 

But lo ! a marvel even greater yet, 

The timid creature, wildly beating first. 

Sank, on a sudden, close as it could get. 
And still, — as though its very heart had burst; 

While on my own such steadfast eyes were set 
As dared me, in their trust, to do my worst. 



I40 Songs in £tax. 

Between the bars was thrust its ventured breast, 
Whose plumy, golden curve now hardly stirred ; 

Then was my long pent tenderness expressed 
In touches like the softest whispered word. 

Ah, life-long trembler, needlessly distressed, 
Me and my love you know at last, poor bird ! 

A new and grateful joy ran through my heart, 
And wet my unsealed eyes like any woe ; 

But with what rapture fell my lips apart : 

" I thank thee, Father, I have learned Thee so ! 

As I, to this frail thing, to me T/iou art. 

And through my own, the heart of God I know ! 

Charlotte Fiske Bates. 




:^^: 




VIII. 

SONGS IN "THE HOUSE OF MY 
PILGRIMAGE." 




Make the house where gods may dwell 
Beautiful, entire and clean." 



** Whatsoever road I take, joins the highway 
That leads to Thee ! " 



Rest is not quitting this busy career. 
Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere." 



SONGS IN THE HOUSE OF MY PIL- 
GRIMAGE. 

" There's a song in the air, there's a star in the sky." 



OPEN the western gate, 
And let the daylight go, 
In pomp of royal state 

In rose and amber glow. 
It is so late, so late, 

The birds sing sweet and low, 
Open the western gate, 
And let the daylight go. 

Lay down thy daily toil. 

Glad of thy labor done, 
Glad of the night's assoil, 

Glad of thy wages won ; 
With hearts that fondly wait. 

With grateful hearts aglow, 
Pray at the western gate 

And let the daylight go. 



144 Songs in t\)c ^§0nse of ntg |)ilgrintage. 

Pray at the eastern gate 

For a.11 the day can ask ; 
Pray at the western gate, 

Holding thy finished task. 
It waxeth late, so late, 

The night falls cold and gray ; 
But through life's western gate 

Dawns life's eternal day. 

Amelia E. Barr. 



AS the bird trims her to the gale 
1 trim myself to the storm of time, 
I man the rudder, reef the sail, 

Obey the voice at eve, obeyed at prime,* 
Lowly, faithful, banish fear, 

Right onward, drive unharmed, 
The port well worth the cruise is near, 
And every wave is charmed. 

Emerson. 



WE should live as if expecting 
To be angels by-and-by, 
Every moment recollecting 
The immortal life on high, 



Songs in tlje ^omc of mg plgriniage. 145 

Where in purity and glory, 

The angelic throngs above, 
Hymn the never-ending story 

Of the orreat Creator's love. 



We should live for something higher 

Than to grovel here for gold, 
And to holiness aspire, 

Like the sainted ones of old ; 
We should live in the endeavor 

Human passions to control, 
And to hold the truth forever 

As the anchor of the soul. 



We should live for one another, 

For humanity and right, 
True to God and to each other, 

And the soul's divinest light ; 
We should live for those in sorrow, 

On the v^aves of trouble cast. 
With an ever firm endeavor 

To be faithful to the last. 



In the narrow path of duty, 
In the shining path of love. 

In the purity and beauty 
Of angelic life above : 



•t> 



146 Songs in il]c ^ouse of mg Jpilgritnage. 

Every moment recollecting 

The immortal life on high, 
We should live as if expecting 

To be angels by-and-by. 

JosiAH Moody Fletcher. 



AH ! for the heart that goes 
Unbenisoned to its rest ! 
Ah ! for the bird that knows 
No mate in its lonely nest ; 
Not even the kindly fluttering 
By night of a passing wing, 
Only the wind's low muttering, 
And no other friendly thing. 

Shall I sicken of faring apart ? 

Shall I die of keeping alone ? 
And of bruising my living heart 

On the cold unanswering stone ? 



There is a little rift 

Of blue above the roofs, 
And away in its peaceful lift, 

There are stars that shine like proofs 



Songs in tl)e ^otxBC of ntg JJilgrimage. 147 

That I shall not miss the folding 

Of God's arms warm about 
The lone life he is holding 

Safe in the dark of doubt ! 

Howard Glyndon. 



ONE summer day, to a young child, I said, 
" Write to thy mother, boy." With earnest face 
And laboring fingers all unused to trace 
The mystic characters, he bent his head 
(That should have danced amid the flowers instead) 
Over the blurred page for a half-hour's space : 
Then with a sigh that burdened all the place 
Cried, " Mamma knows ! " and out to sunshine sped. 

O soul of mine, when tasks are hard and long. 
And life so crowds thee with its stress and strain 
That thou, half fainting, art too tired to pray, — 
Drink thou this wine of blessing and be strong ! 
God knows ! What though the lips be dumb with 

pain. 
Or the pen drops ? He knows what thou would'st 

say. 



w 



HY should we do ourselves this wrong, 
Or others, — that we are not always strong- 



14^ Songs in H)c ^onsje of ntg |)ilgrintage. 

That we are ever overborne with care, 

That we should ever weak or heartless be, 

Anxious or troubled, while with us is prayer, 

And joy and strength and courage are with Thee ? 



Lo ! amid the press. 
The whirl and hum and pressure of my day, 
I hear Thy garment's sweep, Thy seamless dress, 
And close beside my work and weariness. 

Discern Thy gracious form, not far away, 
But very near, O Lord ! to help and bless. 

The busy fingers fly, the eyes may see 

Only the glancing needle which they hold, 

But all my life is blossoming inwardly. 

And every breath is like a litany ; 

While through each labor, like a thread of gold. 

Is woven the sweet consciousness of Thee ! 

Susan Coolidge. 



SERENE, I fold my hands and wait. 
Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea ; 
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, 
For lo ! mine own shall come to me. 



gongs in tl]e ^ouQt of m^ JJilgrimage. 149 

What matter if I stand alone ? 

I wait with joy the coming years : 
My heart shall reap where it has sown, 

And garner up its fruit of tears. 

John Burroughs. 



AMONG so many can He care ? 
Can special love be everywhere ? 
A myriad homes — a myriad ways, — 
And God's eye over every place ? 

Over ; but in f The world is full, 
A grand Omnipotence must rule ; 
But is there life that doth abide 
With mine own, living side by side ? 

So many and so wide abroad : 
Can any heart have all of God ? 
From the great spaces, vague and dim, 
May one small household gather him ? — 

I asked ; my soul bethought of this : — 
*' In just that very place of His 
Where He hath put and keepeth you. 
God hath no other thing to do." 

Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. 



ISO Songs in tlje ^ouqc of ntg JJilgrimage. 

LORD ! if I dip my cup into the sea, 
-^ It rises full ! Such cup each soul may be, 
Such ocean is Thy good ! 



SOMETIMES I am tempted to murmur 
That life is flitting away, 
With only a round of trifles 

Filling each busy day ; 
Dusting nooks and corners. 

Making the house look fair, 
And patiently taking on me 
The burden of woman's care. 



Comforting childish sorrows, 

And charming the childish heart 
With the simple song and story, 

Told with a mother's art ; 
Setting the dear home table, 

And clearing the meal away, 
And going on little errands 

In the twilight of the day. 

One day is just like another ! 

Sewing and piecing well 
Little jackets and trousers. 

So neatlv that none can tell 



Songs in tlje ^onsje of mg JJitgrimage. 151 



Where are the seams and joinings. 

Ah ! the seamy side of life 
Is kept out of sight by the magic 

Of many a mother and wife ! 

And oft when ready to murmur 

That life is flitting away, 
With the self-same round of duties 

Filling each busy day, 
It comes to my spirit sweetly 

With the grace of a thought divine : 
" You are living, toiling, for love's sake, 

And the loving should never repine. 

" You are guiding the little footsteps 

In the way they ought to walk ; 
You are dropping a word for Jesus 

In the midst of your household talk ; 
Living your life for love's sake 

Till the homely cares grow sweet, 
And sacred the self-denial 

That is laid at the Master's feet." 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



WHAT matter how the winds may blow, 
Or blow they east, or blow they west ? 
What reck I how the tides may flow, 
Since ebb or flood alike is best ? 



152 Songs in tl)e ^ouse of ntg JJilgrintage. 

No summer calm, no winter gale, 
Impedes or drives me from my way ; 

I steadfast toward the haven sail 
That lies, perhaps, not far away. 



What matter how the winds may blow ? 

Since fair or foul alike is best ; 
God holds them in His hand, I know, 

And I may leave to Him. the rest, 
Assured that neither calm nor gale 

Can bring me danger or delay, 
As still I toward the haven sail 

That lies, I know, not far away. 

A. D. F. Rando: ph. 



I WAS sitting alone in the twilight, 
With spirit troubled and vexed. 
With thoughts that were morbid and gloomy, 
And faith that was sadly perplexed. 



Some homely work I was doing 
For the child of my love and care. 

Some stitches half-wearily setting 
In the endless need of repair. 



Songs in ti)c ^on^c of tng Jpilgrimage. 153 

But my thoughts were about the " building," 

The work some day to be tried, 
And that only the gold and silver 

And the precious stone would abide : 

And remembering my own poor efforts, 

The wretched work I had done, 
And, even when trying most truly, 

The meager success I had won : 

' It is nothing but wood, hay and stubble," 

I said : " It will all be burned — 
These useless fruits of the talents 
One day to be returned : 

And I have so longed to serve Him, 
And sometimes I know I have tried ; 

But I'm sure when He sees such building 
He will never let it abide." 

Just then as I turned the garment. 
That no rents should be left behind. 

My eyes caught an odd little bungle 
Of mending and patchwork combined. 

My heart grew suddenly tender. 

And something blinded my eyes, 
With one of those sweet intuitions 

That sometimes make us so wise. 



154 Songs in tl)e ^ovlbc of nta pilgrimage. 

Dear child, she wanted to help me ; 

I knew 'twas the best she could do ; 
But oh, what a blotch she has made it — 

The gray mis-matching the blue ! 

And yet — you can understand it ? — 
With a tender smile and a tear, 

And a half-compassionate yearning 
I felt she had grown more dear. 

Then a sweet voice broke the silence, 
And the dear Lord said to me, 
" Art thou tenderer for the little child 
Than I am tender for thee ? " 

Then straightway I knew His meaning, 
So full of compassion and love. 

And my faith came back to its refuge 
Like the glad returning dove. 

For I thought, when the Master-builder 
Came down His temple to viev%7, 

To see what rents must be mended, 
And what must be builded anew. 

Perhaps, as He looks over the building, 
He will bring my work to the light, 

And seeing the marring and bungling, 
And how far it all is from right, 



If 



Songs in tlje ^onse of mp JJilgrimage. 155 

He will feel as I felt for my darling-, 
And will say as I said for her, 
" Dear child, she wanted to help me, 
And love for me was the spur. 



And for the true love that's in it, 
The work shall seem perfect as mine, 

And because it is willing service 
I will crown it with plaudits divine.** 



So there in the deepening twilight 
I seemed to be clasping a hand, 

And to feel a great love constraining me 
Stronger than any command. 



And I knew by the thrill of sweetness 
'Twas the hand of the Blessed One, 

Which would tenderly guide and hold me 
Till all the labor is done. 



So my thoughts are never more gloomy, 

My faith no longer is dim ; 
But my heart is sunny and restful, 

And my eyes turned ever to Him. 

Mrs. Herrick Johnson, 



156 Songs in tl]e ^onse of mp plgrimage. 

HEIMGANG ! So the German people 
Whisper, when they hear the bell 
Tolling from some gray old steeple 

Death's familiar tale to tell ; 
When they hear the organ dirges 
Swelling out from chapel dome, 
And the singers* chanting surges, 
'' Heimgang ! " always going home. 

Heimgang ! Quaint and tender saying, 

In the grand old German tongue, 
That hath shaped Melancthon's praying, 

And the hymns that Luther sung : 
Blessed is our loving Maker, 

That where'er our feet shall roam, 
Still we journey towards " God's Acre " — 

Heimgang ! always going home. 



ONE day at a time ! Every heart that aches 
Knows only too well how long that can seem ; 
But it's never to-day that the spirit breaks. 
It *s the darkened future without a gleam. 

One day at a time ! 'Tis the whole of life ! 

All sorrow, all joy are measured therein, 
The bound of our purpose, our noblest strife 

The one only countersign, sure to win. 

Helen Jackson (H. H.). 



gongs in ii)C ^onse of ms JJilgrimage. 157 



WE shall not die until our work be done ; 
We shall not cease until our course be run : 
We shall not fade or fail 
While heart and faith prevail, 
Or aught is to be won 
Beneath the constant sun. 



THE hands are such dear hands ! 
They are so full ; they turn at our demands 
So often ; they reach out 
With trifles scarcely thought about 
So many times ; they do 
So many things for me, for you — 
If their fond wills mistake, 
We may well bend, not break. 

They are such fond, frail lips 

That speak to us ! Pray if love strips 

Them of discretion many times, 

Or if they speak too slow, or quick, such crimes 

We may pass by, for we may see 

Days not far off when those small words may be 

Held not as slow or quick or out of place, but dear, 

Because the lips are no more here. 

They are such dear familiar feet that go 
Along the path with ours— feet fast or slow, 
And trying to keep pace. If they mistake 
Or tread upon some flower that we would take 



58 00ngi3 in tlje ^oubc of tng JJilgrimage. 

Upon our breast, or bruise some reed, 

Or crush poor Hope until it bleed, 

We may be mute, 

Nor turning quickly to impute 

Grave fault ; for they and we 

Have such a little way to go — can be 

Together such a little while along the way, 

We will be patient while we may. 

So many Httle faults we find ! 

We see them, for not blind 

To love. We see them, but if you and I 

Perhaps remember them some by-and-by 

They will not be 

Faults then — grave faults — to you and me, 

But just odd ways, mistakes, or even less. 

Remembrances to bless. 

Days change so many things — yes, hours ; 

We see so differently in sun and showers. 

Mistaken words to-night 

May be so cherished by to-morrow's light. 

We may be patient, for we know 

There's such a little way to go. 

N. Y. Independent. 



" ril drop my burden at His feet 
And bear a song away ! " 

OVER the narrow^ foot-path 
That led from my lowly door, 
I went with a thought of the Master, 
As oft I had walked before. 



Sangs in tlje ^ouse nf tng JJilgrimage. 159 

My heart was heavily laden, 

And with tears my eyes were dim ; 

But I knew I should lose the burden 
Could I get a glimpse of Him. 

It was more than I could carry, 

If I carried it all alone ; 
And none in my house might share it — 

Only One on the throne. 
It came between me and pleasure, 

Between my work and me ; 
But our Lord could understand it, 

And His touch could set me free. 

Over the trodden pathway, 

To the fields all shorn and bare, 
I went with a step that faltered, 

And a face that told of care. 
I had lost the light of the morning, 

With its shimmer of sun and dew ; 
But a gracious look of the Master 

Would the strength of morn renew. 

While yet my courage wavered, 

And the sky before me blurred, 
I heard a voice behind me 

Saying a tender word. 
And I turned to see the brightness 

Of Heaven upon the road, 



i6o Songs in tl)e i^ouse of mg |)ilgrimage. 

And sudden I lost the pressure 
Of the weary, crushing load. 

Nothing that hour was altered, 

I had still the weight of care ; 
But I bore it now with the gladness 

Which comes of answered prayer. 
Not a grief the soul can fetter 

Nor cloud its vision, when 
The dear Lord gives the spirit 

To breathe to his will, amen. 

O friends ! if the greater burdens 

His love can make so light, 
Why should His wonderful goodness 

Our halting credence slight ? 
The little sharp vexations. 

And the briars that catch and fret, 
Shall we not take them to the Helper 

Who has never failed us yet ? 

Tell Him about the heartache. 

And tell Him the longings, too ; 
Tell Him the baffled purpose, 

When we scarce know what to do. 
Then, leaving all our weakness 

With the One divinely strong. 
Forget that we bore the burden. 

And carry away the song. 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



00ngs in tlje iions^ of tng JJilgriinage. i6i 

WHAT, tears in your eyes, my beloved ! 
Memories of trouble and loss ! 
Can you not thank Him for the anguish ? 

Can you not bless Him for the cross ? 
He knows and loves. Unnoted of Him 

Not one of these tears shall fall. 
Look up through their shining, dear heart and say, 
I bless thee, O Master, for all ! 

Mabel. 



THE cup of my years was filling — 
It had almost reached the brim — 
As I sat by my lonely fireside 

Singing a Sabbath hymn. 
I was sick and alone and v^^eary, 
And I sought in vain for rest. 
And I longed for the tender sympathy 
With which I once was blest. 

I sat alone by my fireside, 

And for very weakness wept. 
And my tears kept mingling with my song 

Until, at last, I slept. 
I slept, and I thought in my sleeping 

I was mounting a giddy height, 
A heavy burden was in my arms, 

And it was almost night. 



i62 Songs in tlje i^onse of mg |Jilgrimage, 

I was weary and weak and trembling, 

And hardly a step could take, 
Hardly a whisper could I speak 

Or upward progress make. 
*' Oh, for a friend," I faltered ; 

And even as I cried, 
A step was coming down the height, 

A form was by my side. 

A face was gazing into mine. 

With tender, pitying eyes ; 
An arm was underneath my own, 

And helping me to rise. 
Up, through the rocky pathway. 

Up, towards the distant blue, 
We went ; I gazed into the face, 

And it seemed like one I knew. 

And oh, the tender sympathy. 

That cannot be expressed. 
Through all my being seemed to flow 

And filled it full of rest. 
My burden seemed as nothing. 

And, though no word he spoke, 
I knew that Jesus Christ was there ; 

" Dear Lord ! " I said, and woke. 

The cup of my years is brimming, 

And I gladly see it fill. 
And I sit by myself, but not alone, 

For Christ is with me still. 



Songs in tl)e ^onse of ntg J)Ugrimage. 163 

Weak, and yet full of resting, 

I have no vain alarms, 
For underneath me now I feel 

The everlasting arms. 

J. H. M. 



When sorrow's darkest night 
Above, around, like a thick cloud doth fall, 

Though thou canst see no light. 
Yet God still lives, and watches over all. 

Then trust His loving care ; 
Pray always, though thy feeble sight be dim ; 

Thy burdens He will bear. 
If thou canst only leave all things with Him. 

Julia D. Peck. 



THE night is come ; like to the day, 
Depart not Thou, great God, away 
Let not my sins, black as the night. 
Eclipse the luster of Thy light; 
Keep in my horizon : for to me 
The sun makes not the day, but Thee. 
Thou, whose nature cannot sleep, 
On my temples sentry keep : 



M Qon%B in t\)c ^oubc of tng |3ilgritnage. 

Guard me against those watchful foes 
Whose eyes are open while mine close. 
Let no dreams my head infest, 
But such as Jacob's temple blest. 
While I do rest, my soul advance ; 
Make my sleep a holy trance : 
That I may, my rest being wrought, 
Awake into some holy thought. 
And with as active vigor run 
My course as doth the nimble sun. 
Sleep is a death : Oh, make me try 
By sleeping, what it is to die ; 
And as gently lay my head 
On my grave as on my bed. 

Sir Thomas Browne, 1605. 



J SAID, one day, "O'life ! you're little worth. 
Made up of toil and care and blighted hope, 
With pain and sin and all their ills to cope. 
The day of death is better than of birth." 
Ev'en as I spoke. Love put a hand in mine, 

And its dear presence drove all gloom away, 
As shadows flee before the dawn of day. 
And life became a heritage divine ! 

Laura Garland Carr. 



Songs in tlje ^onse of mg pigrimag^. 165 

WE shall be like Him " — strange the story ! 
Will wonders never cease ? 
We shall be like the King- of Glory ! 
Like Him, the Prince of Peace ! 

It must be true ! for carefully 

I've read this passage o'er ; 
It plainly says that we shall be 

Like Him whom I adore. 

O, tell me, does it really mean 

'Tis possible on earth 
To be all glorious within, 

Like Him of lowly birth ? 

Or does it mean that we must wait 

To lay this earth-robe by ? 
I grow impatient with the thought 

And long to mount the sky. 

I'll read it o'er again. It says 

That when He doth appear 
We shall be like Him ; it must mean 

We shall be like Him here ! 

For, oh, last night, while bowing low 

Before my Father's throne, 
I saw His face, and oh ! I felt 

His strong hand clasp my own. 



1 66 gongs in tl)e ^onse of mg JJilgrintage, 



You smile, and tell me 'tis by faith 

And not by sight I see : 
If such the fact, makes it the sight 

A whit less real to me ? 

Wouldst have me think that faith is but 

Some ig7tis fatuus light 
No, no, 'tis all the same to me 

Whether 'tis faith or sight. 



And this I know, for 'twas His voice 

Which spoke thus in my ear : 
If we would dwell with Him above 

We must be like him here ! " 

Harriet Chase. 



WE need not die to go to God ! 
See, how the daily prayer is given, — 
'Tis not across a gulf we cry 

" Our Father who dost dwell in heaven ! " 



And, '' Let Thy will on earth be done, 
As in Thy heaven," by this thy child ! 

What is it but all prayers in one, 
That soul and sense be reconciled 1 



Songs in tb^ ^onse of mg IJilgrimage. 167 

As the poor panting hart to the water-brook runs 
As the water-brook runs to the sea, 
So earth's fainting daughters and famishing sons 
O Fountain of love, run to Thee ! 

Alice Carv. 



ACROSS the hedges, thick with autumn flowers, 
I watch the wild, rough wind's breath come and 

go. 
Bending the leaves until their pale backs show ; 
And each small bird that there for safety cowers. 
To hide before the storm that darkly lowers 
Is shown to us, who did not even know 
They shivered there — for they were hidden so — 
Until the wind put forth its strongest powers. 
Is not this like some life of sweetest rest — 
Passing its years in a most even course 
Through sun and summer's perfect, peaceful smile ? 
Yet, when rough trials search that quiet breast. 
It shows beneath the calm, that love's vast force 
Has lain there, hiding humbly, all the while. 



FORGIVE ! that oft my spirit wears 
Her time and strength in trivial cares ; 
Enfold her in Thy changeless peace, 
So she from all but Thee may cease ! 

Angklus Silksius, 1657. 



i68 Songs in t\]c ^ause of mg J)Ugrintoge. 

THE coiled elastic spring of steel 
Imprisoned in its brazen bars, 
Moving each ruby-balanced wheel, 
Measures its motion with the stars. 

The heart's low pulse, the firmer beat. 
The throbbing of the burdened brain. 

The music of a million feet 

On hill-top and on grassy plain ; 

The sea's majestic ebb and flow, 

The ripple on the tender rill, 
The gentle falling of the snow. 

The bird-note and the viol's trill; 

With these, and in the march of thought 
Mid passions ripened into wars, 

Mid the many things which time has wrought, 
Our life is stepping with the stars. 

It is not peace that reigns alone 
In those stupendous orbs of fire. 

But rent and scarred from zone to zone. 
They melt and crumble and expire. 

Yet discord is but harmony 

Which mortals do not understand. 

The tear, the laughter and the sigh. 
Touch in one note the immortal strand. 



Songs in ii)c ^ouqc of mg JJilgritnage. 169 

We rotate in our little cell, 

And touch each other through the bars, 
But God has ordered all things well 

Who keeps us stepping with the stars. 

E. E. Adams. 



ACROSS the field of daily work 
Run the footpaths leading — where ? 
Run they east or run they west, 

One way all the workers fare : 
Every awful thing of earth, 

Sin and pain and battle-noise, 
Every dear thing — baby's birth, 
Faces, flowers, or lovers' joys — 
Is a wicket gate where we 
Join the great liighway to Thee ! 

Restless, restless, speed we on ; 

Whither in the vast unknown ? 
Not to you and not to me 

Are the sealed orders shown ; 
But the Hand that built the road, 

And the Light that leads the feet, 
And this inward restlessness, 
Are such invitation sweet, 
That where I no longer see 
Highway still must lead to Thee. 

William C. Gannett. 



I70 Songs in tl)e ^^ouse of tna JJilgritnage. 

LORD, according to Thy words, 
^ I have considered Thy birds ; 
And find their life good. 
And better, the better understood; 
Sowing neither corn nor wheat, 
They have all that they can eat; 
Reaping no more than they sow, 
They have all that they can stow ; 
Having neither barn nor store, 
Hungry again they eat more. 

Considering, I see too that they 
Have a busy life and plenty of play ; 
In the earth they dig their bills deep, 
And work well, though they do not reap ; 
Then to play in the air they are not loath. 
And their nests between are better than both. 
But this is when there blow no storms, 
When berries are plenty in winter and worms ; 
When their feathers are thick and oil is enough 
To keep the cold out, — and the rain off. 
If there should come a long, hard frost. 
Then it looks as Thy birds were lost. 

But I considered further, and find 

A hungry bird has a free mind ; 

He is hungry to-day, not to-morrow ; 

Steals no comfort, no grief doth borrow ; 

This moment is his, Thy will hath said it. 

The nest is nothing till Thou hast made it. 



Songs in tl)je ^onse of tng plgrimage. 171 

The bird has pain, but has no fear, 

Which is the worst of any gear ; 

When cold and hunger and harm betide him, 

He gathers them not to stuff inside him : 

Content with the day's ill he has got, 

He just waits, nor haggles with his lot ; 

Neither jumbles God's will 

With dribblets from his own still. 

But next I see in my endeavor. 
The birds here do not live forever ; 
That cold or hunger, sickness or age, 
Finishes their earthly stage ; 
The rook drops without a stroke. 
And never gives another croak ; 
Birds lie here, and birds lie there, 
With little feathers all astare ; 
And in Thy own sermon. Thou 
That the sparrow falls, dost allow. 

It shall not cause me any alarm ; 
For neither so comes the bird to harm ; 
Seeing our Father, — Thou hast said. 
Is by the sparrow's dying bed ! 
Therefore, it is a blessed place. 
And the sparrow in high grace ! 
It Cometh, therefore, to this. Lord ; 
I have considered Thy word. 
And henceforth will be Thy bird. 

GiiO. Macdonald. 



172 Songs in tlje ^oubc of mn J}ilgtintage. 



SOME day or other I shall surely come 
Where true hearts wait for me ; 
Then let me learn the language of that home 

While here on earth I be, 
Lest my poor lips for want of words be dumb 
In that High Company. 

Louise Chandler Moulton. 



THE shady nooks and corners, 
So quiet and so cool, 
Where springs the crystal streamlet, 

Where glooms the dusky pool — 
I leave the path to seek them ; 

No dearer haunts I know 
Than just the lonely places 
Where patient mosses grow. 

The shady nooks and corners 

By forest, brook and burn, 
They hide in deep recesses 

The waving feathery fern. 
And through their sheltered silence 

Shy wings flit to and fro, 
And bits of song are breaking 

Where humble flowers blow. 



Bongs in tlje ^otxbi^ of tng |)ilgriTnage. 173 



The shady nooks and corners 

Apart from stir and strife, 
And distant from the tumult 

Of busy whirHng life, 
Where some of God's dear children 

Alone are left and low. 
There, star-like, strong- and steadfast. 

The lights of promise glow. 



The shady nooks and corners, 

Wherein we dwell with God, 
And conquer pain and weakness, 

Sustained by staff and rod ; 
Perhaps in all egirth's journey 

Naught sweeter shall we know 
Than just these sanctuaries 

Where hidden graces grow. 



The shady nooks and corners 

Screened from the glaring day : — 
Songs in the night He giveth 

To those who watch and pray, 
And blessing comes when leaving 

The trodden road we go 
To rest amid the shadows 

Where living waters flow. 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



174 Songs in tlje ^oubc of ms IJilgrimage. 

OH, the temple of the soul ; of what tiny stones 
'tis built ! 
A simple prayer for one whose life may have been 

stained with guilt : — 
The drying of an infant's tear, a smile to cheer some 

heart, 
A word to soften envy's shaft, or turn away its dart. 



All trifles, yet our pitying Lord in mercy takes the 

whole. 
And fashions from them in His love, a temple for 

the soul ; 
Cements the fragments — asking naught beyond our 

power to give — 
Leading us, step by step, to see how grand it is to 

live. — 

To live to do some noble work, however obscure it 

be ! 
To live to pluck away the thorns that grow upon 

life's tree, 
To scatter smiles and helpful words, although the 

way be rough. 
To smooth life's path for tender feet, is this not joy 

enough ? 

Oh, the temple of the soul ! it is very sweet to know, 
If we fully trust our Father's care, whatever fierce 
winds blow. 



Sonigs in tl)e ^onse of mg |Jilgrintage. 175 

Though Hfe's billows may dash o'er us, and its surges 

fiercely roll, 
They ne'er can touch the inner life, the temple of the 

soul. 



EVER and ever the world goes round. 
Bearing its burdens and crosses ; 
Ever and ever the years roll on, 

With their tide of sorrows and losses. 
Ever and ever the book of life 

Bears upon its pages 
The weary, weary lay of the heart, 
Sung through all the ages. 

Ever and ever with outstretched hands 

We grasp for a golden morrow ; 
Ever and ever the billows of time 

Are freighted with bitter sorrow ; 
Ever and ever the lips smile on, 

That the world may walk in blindness ; 
Little they know of the heart's wild woe, 

When the face looks but with brightness. 

Ever and ever the shadows fall, 

Over the golden mosses ; 
Ever a gleam from Paradise, 

Lightens our cares and crosses. 



iy6 Songs in tlje ^ouse of mg plgrimage. 

Ever and ever the morning dawns 

On hopes that are breathed in gladness; 
Ever and ever the night brings in 

Its tide of bitter sadness. 
Ever and ever the eye of God 

Looketh upon us with pity, 
And ever the light is shown to us, 

That gleams from the Golden City. 



HAVING won by toil and pain 
Who shall regret the pang? of life ? 
Who would regret the Past's ]ong night, 
With all its fear and chill and blight, 
If now the east, through twilight gray. 
Were streaked with Everlasting Day ? 



I WALK down the Valley of Silence, 
Down the dim, voiceless valley alone ; 
And I hear not the fall of a footstep 

Around me — save God's and my own ; 
And the hush of my heart is as holy 
As hovers when angels have flown. 



Songs in tl)e ^ouqc of ntg JJilgrimage. 177 

Long ago I was weary of voices 

Whose music my heart could not win; 

Long ago I was weary of noises 

That fretted my soul with their din ; 

Long ago I was weary of places 

Where I met but the human and sin. 

I walked through the world with the worldly; 

I craved what the world never gave ; 
And I said, " In the world each ideal 

That shines like a star on life's wave, 
Is tossed on the shores of the Real, 

And sleeps like a dream in the grave." 

And still did I pine for the perfect, 

And still found the false with the true ; 

I sought 'mid the human for heaven, 
But caught a mere glimpse of the blue, 

And I w^ept when the clouds of the mortal, 
Veiled even that glimpse from my view. 

And I toiled on, heart-tired of human; 

And I moaned 'mid the masses of men, 
Till I knelt long at an altar, 

And heard a voice call me — since then 
I walked down the Valley of Silence 

That is far beyond mortal ken. 

Do you ask what I found in the Valley ? 

'Tis my trysting place with the Divine; 
And I fell at the feet of the Holy, 

And above me a voice said. " Be mine." 



7^ Songs in ti)C ^oubc of ntg Jpilgrintage. 

And there rose from the depths of my spirit 
The echo, " My heart shall be thine." 

Do you ask how I live in the Valley ? 

I weep and I dream and I pray; 
But my tears are as sweet as the dew-drops 

That fall on the roses in May : 
And my prayers, like a perfume from censers, 

Ascending to God night and day. 

In the hush of the Valley of Silence 
I dream all the songs that I sing. 

And the music floats down the dim valley 
Till each finds a word for a wing, 

That to men, like the dove of the deluge, 
The message of peace they may bring. 

But far on the deep there are billows 
That never shall break on the beach, 

And I have heard songs in the silence 
That never shall float into speech ; 

And I have dreams in the Valley 
Too lofty for language to reach. 

Do you ask me the place in the Valley, 
Ye hearts that are narrowed by care ? 

It lies far away between mountains, 
And God and His angels are there ; 

And one is the dark Mount of Sorrow, 
And one the bright Mountain of Prayer. 

Father Ryan. 



Songs in tlje ^onse of tns JJilgrimage. 179 

ALL common things, each day's events, 
That with the hour begin and end, 
Our pleasures and our discontents, 
Are rounds by which we may ascend. 

Longfellow. 



THE way is long, my darling, 
The road is rough and steep, 
And fast across the evening sky 

I see the shadows sweep. 
But oh, my love, my darling, 

No ill to us can come. 
No terror turn us from the path, 
For we are going home. 

Your feet are tired, my darling — 

So tired, the tender feet ; 
But think, when we are there at last, 

How sweet the rest ! how sweet ! 
For lo ! the lamps are lighted, 
' And yonder gleaming dome, 
Before us, shining like a star. 

Shall guide our footsteps home. 

Art cold, my love, and famished ? 

Art faint and sore athirst ? 
Be patient yet a little while, 

And joyous, as at first ; 



i8o Songs in ll)e ^ouse of mg plgrimage. 

For oh ! the sun sets never 

Within that land of bloom, 
And thou shalt eat the bread of life 

And drink life's wine at home. 

The wind blows cold, my darling, 

Adown the mountain steep, 
And thick across the evening sky 

The darkling shadows creep ; 
But oh ! my love, press onward, 

Whatever trials come. 
For in the way the Father set. 

We two are going home. 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



. . . Why forecast the trials of life, 
With such sad and grave persistence,. 

And wait and watch for a crowd of ills 
That as yet have no existence ? 

Strength for to-day — what a precious boon 

For earnest souls who labor ! 
For the willing hands who minister 

To the needy friend or neighbor. 

Strength for to-day that the weary hearts 
In the battle for right may quail not ; 

And the eyes bedimmed by bitter tears 
In the search for light may fail not. 



gongs in tl)e ^oxtse of m^ plgritnage. i8i 

Strength for to-day on the downhill track 

For the travelers near the valley ; 
That up, far up on the other side 

Ere long they may safely rally. 

Strength for to-day, that our precious youth 

May happily shun temptation, 
And build from the rise to the set of the sun 

On a strong and sure foundation. 

Strength for to-day, in house and home 

To practice forbearance sweetly ; 
To scatter kind words and loving deeds, 

Still trusting in God completely. 

Strength for to-day is all that we need, 
For there never will be a to-morrow; 

For to-morrow will prove but another to-day, 
With its measures of joy and sorrow. 



IF you sit down at set of sun 
And count the acts that you have done, 
And counting find 
One self-denying act— one word 
That eased the heart of him who heard, 

One glance most kind, 
That fell like sunshine where it went, 
Then you may count the day well spent. 



i82 Songs in ll)c ^onse of nta JJilgrintage^ 

<< T^HE days are all alike," she said ; 
1 *' The glory of my life is dead ; 
Hope and ambition far are fled — 
And I live on in vain. 



" Others have reached the leaves of fame, 
Others have won undying name ; 
My shadowed hours are still the same — 
What comfort doth remain ? 

'• To clothe — to feed — to satisfy 
The household need ; the children's cry 
Doth fill the moments as they fly ; 
My sheaves are poor and small. 

*' So full the claims of every day 
I scarce can creep to Thee, and pray ; 
Oh, lead me in some brighter way 
To glorify Thy name." 

Then spoke the Master, "Thankful be, 
My child ! that God hath honored thee, 
The richest crown of life to see, 

That prayers and hopes can claim. 

*' Glory thou cravedst — and instead 
I gave thee children to be fed, 
Those tender lives that look for bread 
Unto the mo her hand. 



Songs in tlje ^onse of ntg Jpilgrimage. 183 

'* Joy didst thou seek — I heard thy prayer ; 
I sent thee infant faces fair, 
And rosy lips and sunny hair — 
A blessed, sinless band." 

" ' Glory to God,' was still my plea — 
Patience of Christ they brought from Me — 
These babes that God shall ask of thee. 
Within the resting land." 



THERE'S many a rest on the road of life. 
If we only would stop to take it. 
And many a tone from the better land. 
If the careworn heart would wake it-. 
To the sunny soul that is full of hope. 

And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, 
The grass is green and the flowers are bright, 
Though the wintry storm prevaileth. 

Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, 

And to keep the eyes still lifted ; 
For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through 

When the ominous clouds are rifted. 
There was never a night without a day. 

Nor an evening without a morning ; 
And the darkest hour, the proverb goes, 

Is the hour before the dawning. 



184 Songs in tlie ^ouse of mg JJilgrimage, 

Better to weave in the web of life 

A bright and golden filling, 
And to do God's will with a ready heart, 

And hands that are swift and willing, 
Than to snap the delicate silver threads 

Of our curious lives asunder, 
And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends, 

And sit to grieve and wonder. 



THE faint low echo that we hear of far-off music 
seems to fill 
The silent air. with love and fear, and the world's 

clamors all grow still, 
Until the portals close again, and leave us toiling on 
in pain. 

Complain not that the way is long, — what road is 

weary that leads there ? 
But let the Angel take thy hand, and lead thee up 

the misty stair, 
Andthen with beating heart await the opening of 

the Golden Gate. 

Adelaide Anne Proctor. 



HOW many of us have ships at sea, 
Freighted with wishes, hopes and fears, 
Tossing about on the waves, while we 
Linger and wait on the shore for years, 



QouQQ in tlie ^ouqc of mg JJilgritnagje. 185 

Gazing- afar through the distance dim 

And sighing, " Will ever our ships come in ? '* 

We sent them away with laughter and song, 
The decks were white and the sails were new. 

The fragrant breezes bore them along, 

The sea was calm and the skies were blue, 

And we thought as we watched them sail away 

Of the joy they would bring us some future day. 

Long have we watched beside the shore 

To catch the gleam of a coming sail, 
But we only hear the breakers' roar, 

Or the sweeping night-wind's dismal wail. 
Till our cheeks grow pale, and our eyes grow dim, 
And we sadly sigh, " Will they never come in ? " 

Oh ! poor sad heart with its burden of cares, 

Its aims defeated, its worthless life, 
That has garnered only the thorns and the tares 

That is seared and torn in the pitiful strife. 
Afar on the heavenly golden shore 
Thy ships are anchored forevermore. 

Florence Grovbr. 



ONE of these days it will all be over. 
Sorrow and parting, and loss and gain. 
Meetings and partings of friends and lover, 
Joy that was ever so edged with pain. 



1 86 Songs in tl)e ^on^i^ of tng JJilgrintage, 

One of these days will our hands be folded, 
One of these days will the work be done. 

Finished the pattern our lives have molded, 
Ended our labor beneath the sun. 

One of these days will the heart-ache leave us, 

One of these days will the burden drop ; 
Never again shall a hope deceive us, 

Never again will our progress stop. 
Freed from the blight of vain endeavor, 

Winged with the health of immortal life, 
One of these days we shall quit forever 

All that is vexing in earthly strife. 

One of these days we shall know the reason. 

Haply, of much that perplexes now; 
One of these days in the Lord's good season 

Light of his peace shall adorn the brow. 
Blest, though out of tribulation. 

Lifted to dwell in his sun-bright smile, 
Happy to share in the great salvation, 

Well may we tarry a little while. 



Shall we sit idly down and say 
The night hath come ; it is no longer day ? 
The night hath nof yet come ; we are not quite 
Cut off from labor by the failing light ; 



Songs in il)c iponse of ntji JJilgrintag^. 187 

Something- remains for us to do or dare ; 
Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear ; 

For age is opportunity no less 
Than youth itself, though in another dress, 
And as the evening . . . fades away, 
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by 'day. 

From Longfellow's " Morituri Salutamus." 



THANKS for the benediction of Thy love 
Celestial, falling with a heavenly grace 
From out those heights where angel ones, above 

The scenes of our temptations, gladly trace 
The paths by which our feet may safely climb 
Those starry heights beyond, where life shall grow 
sublime. 

Hester M. Poole. 




IX. 



SONGS OF REMEMBRANCE. 




I will remember Thee, in the night-watches.^ 

** The dawn is not distant, 
Nor is the night starless ; 
Love is eternal ! 
God is still God, and 
His faith shall not fail us ! '* 



Here then inscribe them — each red-letter day ! 
Forget not all the sunshine of the way 
By which the Lord hath led thee ! answered prayers, 
And joys unasked ; strange blessings, lifted cares, — 
Grand promise echoes ! Thus each page shall be 
A record of God's faithfulness to thee." 



SONS OF REMEMBRANCE. 



" O Life and Love ! O happy throng 
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song." 



HIDE thee awhile, call back the troublous past; 
How many times we have been wakened thus, 
while I, 
Entered the dreadful shadow, all aghast, 

And found beyond it a far brighter sky ; 
How oft the low black clouds above me lay, 
And some sweet wind of God blew them away. 



Hide thee awhile, call back the happy past : 

Thy many marvelous mercies: thy delicious days, 

When sorrow watched thee from afar, nor cast 
One shadow o'er love's many changing ways ; 

All eyes have wept ; life no new sorrow has ; 

Times come and go ; but God is where He was. 



192 Songs of liemembrance. 

So, soul, come with me, and be sure we'll find 

A little sanctuary, wherein dwell faith and prayer, 

Then, if misfortune come, cast doubt behind ; 

We shall have strength to fight, or strength to 
bear ; 

No prisoners of evil fate are we, 

For in our breast we carry Hopeful's key. 

Amelia E. Barr. 



SUM up at night what thou hast done by day; 
And in the morning what thou hast to do. 
Dress and undress thy soul. 

George Herbert. 



THE things o'er which we grieved, with lashes 
wet. 
Will flash before us out of life's dark night, 
As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue. 



They are poor 
That have lost nothing : they are poorer far 
Who, losing, have forgotten ; they most poor 
Of all, who lose and wish they might forget. 



gongs of Uetnentbr ancc. 193 

For life is one, and in its warp and woof 
There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair, 
And sometimes in the pattern shows most sweet 
Where there are somber colors. It is true 
That we have wept. But oh ! this thread of gold. 
We would not have it tarnish ; let us turn 
Oft and look back upon the wondrous web, 
And when it shineth, sometimes we shall know 
That memory is possession. 

When I remember something which I had, 
But which is gone, and I must do without, 

I sometimes wonder how I can be glad ; 
Even in cowslip time, when hedges sprout. 

It makes me sigh to think on it, — but yet 

My days will not be better days, should I forget. 

When I remember something promised me. 
But which I never had, nor can have now, 

Because the promiser we no more see 

In countries that accord with mortal vow ; — 

When I remember this, I mourn — but yet 

My happier days are not the days when I forget. 

Jean Ingklow. 



FROM the mountain-side of years, 
Up which I came and failed or won, 
The places watered by my tears 
Seem sweet as gardens in the sun. 



194 Songs of Eetnembrance, 

From this calm height my way seems plain, 
And work and duty shall be joy, 

Ripened, toned down, and purged by pain 
No ill my purpose can destroy. 

To-day, I seem to understand 

That pain and struggle, grief and care, 

Are chisels in an Unseen Hand, 
That round us into statues fair. 

A. P. Miller. 



Summer days 
And moonlight nights, He led us over paths 
Bordered with pleasant flowers ; but when His steps 
Were on the mighty waters, — when we went 
With trembling hearts through nights of pain and 

loss, — 
His smile was sweeter and His love more dear; 
And only Heaven is better, than to walk 
With Christ at midnight, over moonless seas ! 

" B. M." 



In dreams that hold 
One hand to forward, one to past 
We stay the years that fly so fast, 
And link our new lives to the old. 

F, W. BOURDILLON. 



0ongs of Remembrance. 195 

THINK ye the notes of holy song 
On Milton's tuneful ear have died ? 
Think ye that Raphael's angel throng 
Have vanished from his side ? 

Oh, no 1 we live our life again ; 

Or warnnly touched, or coldly dim, 
The pictures of the past remain, — 

Man's work shall follow him. 

Whittier. 



THERE was a time when meadow, grove and 
stream. 
The earth and every common sight, 
To me did seem 
Appareled in celestial light, — 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore : 
Turn wheresoe'er I may. 
By night or day, 
The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 

The rainbow comes and goes 
And lovely is the rose ; 
The moon doth with delight 
Look 'round her when the heavens are bare ; 
Waters on a starry night 
Are beautiful and fair ; 



196 Songs of Remembrance. 



The sunshine is a g-lorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, 
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. 

O joy ! that in our embers 

Is something that doth live, 
That nature yet remembers 
What was so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction : . . . 

Though inland far we be. 
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 

Which brought us hither, — 
Can in a moment travel thither, 
And see the children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 

Then sing, sing a joyous song ! 

Though nothing can bring back the hour 
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower, — 
We will grieve not, rather find 
Strength in what remains behind ; 
In the primal sympathy 
Which having been, must ever be ; 
In the soothing thoughts that spring- 
Out of human suffering ; 
In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

Wordsworth. 



Songs of Ucmcmbxantc. 197 

IMIND the weary days of old, 
When motionless I seemed to lie ; 
The nights when fierce the billows rolled, 

And changed my course, I knew not why. 
I feared the calm, I feared the gale, 

Foreboding danger and delay, 
Forgetting I w^as thus to sail 
To reach what seemed so far away. 

I measure not the loss and fret 

Which through those years of doubt I bore ; 
I keep the memory fresh, and yet 

Would hold God's patient mercy more. 
What wrecks have passed me in the gale, 

What ships gone down on summer days ; 
While I, with furled or spreading sail. 

Stood for the haven far away. 

A. D. F. Randolph. 



THERE is no soul but has some deep regret 
For something lost on which the heart was set ; 
Through tear-drop prisms still we see it glow, 
Rimmed with the splendors of the glorious bow. 
There is no soul but sometimes takes its flight 
To those far skies that made its youth so bright, 
In search of something lost, and with a sigh, 
Gives o'er the search, returns and waits to die, 
And treads the stony way with bleeding feet. 
To find it when the heart has ceased to beat. 



198 Songs of Remembrance. 

O sweet autumnal days of long ago ! 

How in my bosom yet their raptures glow ! 

Those mellow days, when in the infinite West, 

In some celestial islands of the blest, 

The angels loosed the winds and set them free. 

To roam the fields and woods and hills with me. 

While toiling men in hamlets far away 

Heard the woods roar through all the balmy day. 

O blessed days of sunshine and of peace ! 

When from the strife of man I stole release 

And walked abroad among the hills and woods 

In the sweet company of God's solitudes ; 

Through velvet fields I saw the rivers run 

And white towns shining in the mellow sun. 

And heard the woods their soothing music pour 

From forest harps with multitudinous roar, 

Or saw across some blue and distant bay 

A glory fall on cities far away, 

And taper steeples, tow'ring slim and high, 

Stand glorified against the wondrous sky ! 

And then God came with His rich gifts of power 

And talked and walked with me from hour to hour, 

And changed me to a harp of living chords. 

"Consolation," A. P. Miller, 



THE sudden joys that out of darkness start 
As flames from ashes ; swift desires that dart 
Like swallows singing down each wind that blows 1 
White as the gleam of a receding sail, 



Songs of ^cmcmhxance. 199 

White as a cloud that floats and fades in air, 
White as the whitest lily on a stream, 
These tender memories are : a fairy tale 
Of some enchanted land, we know not where, 
But lovely as a landscape in a dream ! 

Longfellow. 



THE happy dreams that gladdened all our youth 
When dreams had less of self and more of truth 
The childhood's faith, so tranquil and so sweet, 
Which sat like Mary at the Master's feet — 
These are not lost. 



Not lost, O Lord ! for in thy city bright. 
Our eyes shall see the past by clearer light, 
And things long hidden from our gaze below, 
Thou wilt reveal, and we shall surely know — 
These are not lost. 



O MEMORY, ope thy mystic door ; 
O dream of youth return ; 
And let the light that gleamed of yore 
Beside this altar burn. 



200 Songs of Remembrance. 

The past is plain. ; 'twas love designed 

E'en sorrow's iron chain ; 
And mercy's shining thread has twined 

With the dark warp of pain. 

David Gray. 



No strain 

That e'er awakened human smiles or tears 

Is lost ; nor shall we call it back in vain. 
Beside the shore, amid the eternal spheres, 

Hark, the beloved voices once again 
Rise from the winds and waves to soothe mine ears. 



SOME comfort when all else is night, 
About his fortune plays, 
Who sets his dark to-days in the light 
Of the sunnier yesterdays. 

In memory of joy that's been 

Something of joy, is still ; 
Where no dew is, we may dabble in 

A dream of the dew at will. 



0ongs of Remembrance. 201 

Thank God, when other power decays, 

And other pleasures die, 
We still may set our dark to-days, 

In the liglit of days gone by. 

Alice Cary. 



NOT to forget, when pain and grief draw nigh, 
Into the ocean of time past, to dive 
For memories of God's mercies. 

Henry Septimus Sutton. 



WHEN doomed to feel that youth is o'er, 
That spring and summer both have fled, 
That we can wake to life no more. 

The buds and blossoms that are dead ; 
That evermore the years will steal 

Some brightness as they hurry on. 
And with the past we know and feel 
The glory of our life is gone ; 

And still, the skies are just as blue. 

The golden suns as warm and bright. 
No star has lost its radiant hue. 

Or faded from the crown of night ; 
And beauty's cheek is still as fair. 

The songs of birds as sweet at morn. 
The flowers bloom, and in the air 

Th^fragrancc of the spring is born. 



202 Songs of Remembrance. 

But oh, to think of all the past, 

How much of good there was to glean, 
How little came to us at last. 

And yet, and yet, what might have been 
How shadows gather o'er the heart, 

The night winds bear a sadder strain ; 
The eyes grow dim with tears that start. 

And memory's gates we close in vain. 



BUILD thee more stately mansions, O my soul, 
As the swift seasons roll ! 
Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

Till thou at length art free. 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 




X, 



SONGS IN SICKNESS, 




K,jr^^'-^ 



** The mark of rank in Nature 
Is capacity for pain, 
And the anguish of the singer 

Makes the sweetness of the strain ! 



*' There's a purpose in pain, 
Else it were devilish ! " 



If broken lives may best complete 
Thy circle, let our fragments fall 
An offering at Thy feet." 



SONGS IN SICKNESS. 



God has use for all thy pain. 



I TRUST in my soul 
That the great master hand which sweeps over the 

whole 
Of this deep harp of life, if at moments it stretch 
To shrill tension some one wailing nerve, means to 

fetch 
Its response the truest, most stringent and smart, — 
Its pathos the purest, from out the wrung heart, 
Whose faculties, flaccid it may be, if less 
Sharply strung, sharply smitten, had failed to ex- 
press 
Just the one note, the great harmony needs. 

Owen Meridith's ^'' Luctiley 



THIS leaf? this stone ? It is thy heart ; 
It must be crushed by pain and smart, 
It must be cleansed by. sorrow's art — 



2o6 gcngs in Sickneas. 

Ere it will yield a fragrance sweet, 
Ere it will shine a jewel meet, 
To lay before thy dear Lord's feet. 



THE same old baffling questions ! O my friend 
I cannot answer them. In vain I send 
My soul into the dark, where never burn 
The lamps of science, nor the natural light 
Of Reason's sun and stars ! I cannot learn 
Their great and solemn meanings, nor discern 
The awful secrets of the eyes which turn 
Evermore on us through the day and night. 
With silent challenge, and a dumb demand, 
Proffering the riddles of the dread unknown 
Like the calm sphinxes with their eyes of stone. 
Questioning the centuries from their veils of sand. 
I have no answer for myself or thee, 
Save that I learned at my mother's knee : 
" All is of God that is, and is to be, 
And God is good ! " Let this suffice us still 
Resting in child-like trust upon His will. 
Who moveth His great ends unthwarted by the ill. 

Whittier. 



KNOW Thy wondrous ways will end 
In love and blessing, Thou true friend I 



Bongs in Sickness. 207 

Enough if Thou art ever near. 
I know whom Thou wilt glorify 
And raise o'er sun and stars on high, 

Thou lead'st through depths of darkness here 



I WAIT, 

Till from my veiled brows shall fall 

This being's thrall, 
Which keeps me now from knowing all. 
In stormless mornings yet to be 
rU pluck from Life's full fruited tree, 

The joys to-day denied to me. 

Mary Clemmer. 



T 



HEY who have learned to pray aright, 
From Pain's dark well draw up delight. 



THE Border-Lands are calm and still, 
And solemn are their silent shades 
And my heart welcomes them, until 
The light of life's long evening fades. 

I heard them spoken of with dread, 
As fearful and unquiet places ; 

Shades where the living and the dead 
Looked sadly in each other's faces. 



2o8 Songs in Sickness. 

But since Thy hand hath led me here 
And I have seen the Border-Land — 

Seen the dark river flowing near, 
Stood on its brink as now I stand, 

There has been nothing to alarm 

My trembling soul ; how could I fear 

While thus encircled with Thine arm ? 
I never felt Thee half so near. 

They say the waves are dark and deep. 
That faith has perished in the river ; 

They speak of death with fear, and weep, 
Shall my soul perish ? Never ! never ! 

I know that Thou wilt never leave 
The soul that trembles while it clings 

To Thee : I know Thou wilt achieve 
Its passage on Thine outspread wings. 

And since I first was brought so near 
The stream that flows to the Dead Sea, 

I think that it has grown more clear 
And shallow than it used to be. 



ONCE Pain beat upon my heart 
And well-nigh killed it. 
I shuddered at the smart. 
But said " God willed it." . 



Songs in Sickness. 209 

And down and down again, 

With awful power, 
Fell the great hand of Pain, 

Hour after hour. 

While like a mighty flail, 

The fierce blows hurt me, 
I cried, " God doth prevail, 

He'll not desert me." 

Blow upon cruel blow. 

The great hand gave me. 
Yet I cried, " He doth know 

And He will save me." 

I did not loudly cry, 

And ask God's reason ; 
I knew He'd tell me why 

In His own season. 

*' In His good time," I said, 
In trusting blindness. 
And I was not afraid 
To wait His kindness. 

I did not trust in vain, 

God drew me nearer. 
And whispered, " Smile again ! 

The way is clearer." 



2IO Songs in Sickness. 

And lo ! my mortal sight 

Could reach to heaven. 
My faith dispelled the night, 

And light was given. 

Ella Wheeler. 



I HAVE some songs I do not sing 
To any human ear ; 
None can discern the precious thing 
Which is to me so dear. 



No sympathy goes far enough ; 

No soul comes into mine ; 
No critic's voice but sounds too rough, 

for me to lend a line. 

They are my songs, my precious songs, 

That come to me by night ; 
Their very rhythmic pulse belongs 

To fancy's farthest flight. 

In them my spirit moved at v^ill 
Between the earth and sky ; 

I cannot catch again the thrill 
I felt when stars passed by. 



Sengs in Sickness. 211 

So blame me not ; I cannot sing, 

To any human ear, 
Those anthems of my suffering- 

Which are to me so dear. 

Rev. Samuel Duffield. 



WHAT though the web our hands shall leave 
undone 
Be tangled, and its pattern feebly wrought ? 
If it be finished by some stronger one, 

The stronger soul may win the goal we sought. 

Some soul shall reap what we have sown in tears. 

Laura B. Boyce. 



IF I must win my way to perfectness 
In the sad path of suffering, like Him 
The over-flowing river of whose life 
Touches the flood-mark of humanity 
On the white pillars of the heavenly throne, 
Then welcome .... sickness . . . 
Sorrow and pain, the fear and fact of death ! 

Dr. J. G. Holland. 



212 Songs in Sickness. 



w 



HAT profit to lay on God's altar 
Oblations of pain ? — 



Can He in the infinite gladness 

That floods all His being with light 

Complacently look on the sadness 
That dares to intrude on His sight ? 

Can He, in His rhythmic creation 
Attuned to the chant of the spheres. 

Bear the discord of moans, the vibration 
Of down-dropping tears ? 

Be quiet, poor heart ! Are the lessons 

Life sets thee so hard to attain 
That thou know'st not their potentest essence 

Lies wrapped in the problem of pain ? 
Even Nature such rudiments teaches ; — 

The birth-throe presages the breath ; 
The soul so high destined, reaches 
Its highest through death. 

No beaker is brimmed without bruising 
The clusters that gladden the vine ; 

No gem, glitters star-like, refusing 
The rasp that uncovers its shine ; 

The diver must dare the commotion 
Of billows above him that swirl, 

Ere he from the depths of the ocean 
Can bring up the pearl. 



Sangs in Sickness. 213 

And He, who is molding the spirit, 

Through disciplines changeful and sore, 

Thai so it be fit to inherit 

The marvelous heirship in store — 

He measures the weight He is piling, 
He tempers the surge with a touch, 

There'll not be a graze of His filing 
Too little, too much. 

O heart, canst thou trust Him ? For sake of 

Attainment the noblest, the best, 
Content thee awhile to partake of 

These trials so wisely impressed ; 
Nor question God's goodness, nor falter. 

Nor say that Thy service is vain, 
If He bids thee bring to His altar 
Oblations of pain. 

Margaret J. Preston. 



A LITTLE bird fiew my window by, 
'Twixt the level street and the level sky, 
The level rows of houses tall, 
The long low sun on the level wall ; 
And all that the little bird did say 
Was, " Over the hills and far away." 

A little bird sings above my bed. 
And I know if I could but lift my head 



214 Songs in Sickness, 



I would see the sun set, round and grand, 
Upon level sea and level sand. 
While beyond the misty distance gray 
Is " Over the hills and far away." 



I think that a little bird will sing 

Over a grassy mound next spring, 

Where something that once was 7ne, ye'll leave 

In the level sunshine, morn and eve : 

But I shall be gone, past night, past day, 

" Over the hills and far away." 

Miss Mulock. 



T THOUGHT to work for Him. " Master," I said, 
1 " Behold how wide the fields, and the good seed 
How few to sow. For Thee all toil were sweet — 
Oh, bid me go." He stayed my eager feet. 
" Not that, my child, the task I have for thee." 



*' Thou seest. Lord, how white the harvest bends. 
How worn the reapers are. Their cry ascends 
For help, more help, to garner up the grain — 
Here am I, Lord ; send me." Alas, in vain ! 
The Master saith, '* Let others bind the sheaves." 



Songs in Sickn^ess. 215 

*' Thy lambs, dear Lord, are straying from the fold. 
Their feet are stumbling o'er the mountains cold — 
Far in the night I hear their piteous cry — 
Let me bring back the wanderers ere they die." 
" No ; other hands must lead them home again." 

" Dear Master, dost Thou see the bitter tears 
The mourners shed ? Through all the long sad years 
Their wails ascend. Wilt thou not bid me say. 
Thy hand shall wipe each mourner's tears away." 
*• My child, I know their griefs, and I will heal." 

•' Tis not for thee to sow the deathless seed. 
Nor thine to bind the sheaves; nor thine to lead 
The lost lambs back into their fold again. 
Nor yet to soothe the sore heart crushed with pain ; 
For thee, my child, another task is set." 

And then He led me to my darkened room, 
And there amid the silence and the gloom, 
My task I found. But I am well content 
To bear the pain and weakness He hath sent. 
Rejoiced that I can suffer for His sake. 



FATHER, I must - lean hard," 
And lay on Thee the burden of this pain ; 
This murmuring impatience too — thou know'st 
Is harder still to bear. My fainting heart 



2i6 Songs in Sickness. 

Must find its shelter 'neath the circling arms 
Of thine own deep love. Firm, clasp it there ! 
Take all my burden — thou said'st it shall be thine; 
Leaning on thee, I know I shall be strong. 
Father ! dear Father ! I would be closer yet ; 
But thou must draw me, else I cannot come. 
Thine ar7n is not enough — where else can I repose 
But on thy loving breast ? Soft pillowed there 
Forever let me lie ! Weary and weak. 
My feet had stumbled on this rugged way, 
Had'st thou not held my hand ; and now I'm come 
Close to the narrow stream — e'en should its waters 
Roar and waves swell high — thine everlasting arms 
Shall bear me safely through — its floods can ne'er 
O'erwhelm. Father, thou lov'st thy child — 
I do not doubt — but will " lean hard." 



ALL the day long 1 seem to float away 
Through the gray mists that hide both sea and 
sun, 
I hear the plash of waves ; I feel their spray, 
And still my boat is drifting farther on. 

Love cannot reach me ; death and night alone 
Are with me and wnth ever-deepening shade 

Curtain me 'round, till darkness thick has grown. 
And helpless hands are stretched in vain for aid. 



Songs in Sickness. 217 

God has forgotten ; only pain has life, 

And weakness, stealing soul and sense away, 

God has forgotten, and amid the strife 
I hear the unknown sea and feel its spray. 

Faint through the darkness shines a tender light ; 

Soft falls a voice I cannot help but hear — 
" Through waters deep thou passest, yet thy sight 

Full soon shall know, thy Lord was always 
near'' 

Helen Campbell. 



O SUDDEN blast, that through this silence black 
Sweeps past my windows, 
Coming and going with invisible track 
As death or sin does, — 

Why scare me, lying sick, and, save thine own, 

Hearing no voices ? 
Why mingle with a helpless human moan 

Thy mad rejoicings ? 

Why not come gently, as good angels come 

To souls departing, 
Floating among the shadows of the room 

With eyes light-darting, 



2i8 QottQB in Sickness* 

Bringing faint airs of balm that seem to rouse 

Thoughts of a far land, 
Then binding softly upon weary brows 

Death's poppy garland ? 

O fearful blast, I shudder at thy sound 

Like heathen mortal 
Who saw the Three that mark life's doomed bouna 

Sit at his portal. 

Thou mightst be laden with sad, shrieking souls. 

Carried unwilling 
From their known earth to the unknown stream that 
rolls, 

All anguish stilling. 

Fierce wind, will the death-angel come like thee, 

Soon, soon to bear me 
— Whither ? what mysteries may unfold to me, 

What terrors scare me ? 

Shall I go wandering on, through empty space 

As on earth, lonely ? 
Or seek through myriad spirit-ranks one face, 

And miss that only ? 

Shall I then drop down from sphere to sphere 

Palsied and aimless ? 
Or will my being change so, that both fear 

And grief die nameless ? 



Songs in Sickness. 219 

• 

Rather I pray Him who Himself is love, 

• •••••••• 

That even His brightness may not quite efface 

The soul's earth-features, 
That in the clear human likeness each may trace 

Glorified creatures ; 

That we may not cease loving, only taught 

Holier desiring ; 
More faith, more patience ; with more wisdom 
fraught. 

Higher aspiring. 



Then, strong Azrael, be thy supreme call 

Soft as spring-breezes. 
Or like this blast, whose loud fiend festival 

My heart's blood freezes, 

I will not fear thee. If thou safely keep 

My soul, God's giving, 
And my soul's soul, I, wakening from death-sleep 

Shall first know living. 

MiSS MULOCK. 



T 



HE Lord knoweth when each hot tear floweth 
From eyes of those who suffer while they pray; 



He knows their sorrow, in the glad to-morrow 
Will wipe in gentleness those drops away. 



2 20 Songs in Sickness. 

The Lord knoweth when the slow pulse showeth, 
That we are drawing near to Jordan's strand, 

When our heart faileth, then His strength availeth, 
And i)rings us safely to the better land. 



The Lord knoweth ! If your faint heart troweth, 

It is uncared for by its God above, 
Oh, doubt no longer, but in this be stronger, 

He knoweth all things, and His name is Love. 

G. Z. G. 



PAIN'S furnace-heat within me quivers, 
God's breath upon the fire doth blow, 
And all my heart in anguish shivers, 

And trembles at the fiery glow ; 
And yet I whisper, " As God will ! " 
And in His hottest fire hold still. 



He comes, and lays my heart, all heated, 

On the bare anvil, minded so 
Into His own fair shape to beat it, 

With His great hammer, blow on blow ; 
And yet I whisper, " As God will ! " 
And at His heaviest blows hold still. 



Songs in Sickness. 221 

He takes my softened heart and beats it. 

The sparks fly off at every blow. 
He turns it o'er and o'er, and heats it, 

And lets it cool and makes it glow. 
And yet I whisper, " As God will ! " 
And in His mighty hand hold still. 

Why should I murmur ? for the sorrow 

Thus only longer-lived would be ; 
Its end may come, and will, to-morrow, 

When God has done His work in me : 
So I say trusting, " As God will ! " 
And trusting to the end, hold still. 

He kindles for my profit purely. 

Affliction's fiery, glowing brand ; 
And all his heaviest blows are surely 

Inflicted by a master-hand ; 
So I say praying, " As God will ! " 
And hope in Him, and suffer still. 



A LIFE of waiting, lived as for the Lord, 
Shall never in his sight be counted lost. 
Dost find it hard to wait? Remember this, 
Our will, opposing God's will, makes the cross. 



222 Songs in Sickness. 

God's plans are great and deep, His ways are wide ; 

We strive in vain His will to understand, 
Till, looking upward through the mist of doubt. 

We hear His loving voice, and clasp His hand. 

The reason here we may not understand 
Why He should bid some labor, others rest ; 

But since His love and wisdom cannot fail, 

We know His ways are right. His plans are best.' 



CONTENT thee— so the angel saith,— 
Thy minor makes the triumph strain 
Sound sweeter on celestial breath — 
And God has use for all thy pain. 
His joy thy struggling soul may reach ; 

From the strong slain comes sweetness still. 
And God lets suffering only teach 
Some best revealings of His will. 



IF thou, impatient, do let slip thy cross, 
Thou wilt not find it in this world again, 
Nor in another ; here and here alone 
Is given thee to suffer for God's sake. 
In other worlds we shall more perfectly 
Serve Him, and love Him, praise Him, work for 
Him. 



Songs in Sickness. 223 

Grow nearer and nearer Him with all delight ; 

But then we shall not any more be called 

To suffer, which is our appointment here. 

Canst thou not suffer then one hour — or two ? 

If He should call thee from thy cross to-day, 

Saying, " It is finished ! " — that hard cross of thine 

From which thou prayest for deliverance, 

Thinkst thou not some passion of regret 

Would overcome thee ? Thou wouldst say, "So soon ? 

Let me go back, and suffer yet awhile 

More patiently — I have not yet praised God." 

And He might answer to thee^" Never more. 

All pain is done with." Whensoe'er it comes, 

That summons that we look for, it will seem 

Soon, yea, too soon. Let us take heed in time 

That God may now be glorified in us ; 

And while we suffer, let us set our souls 

To suffer perfectly ; since this alone, — 

The suffering, which is this world's special grace, 

May here be perfected, and left behind. 

From Ugo Bassi's Sermon. 



L 



ORD, a little, little longer ! " 
Sobs the earth-love, growing stronger, 
He will miss me, and go mourning through his soli- 
tary days, 
And heaven were scarcely heaven, 
If these lambs which thou hast given 
Were to slip out of our keeping and be lost in the 
world's ways. 



224 Songs in Sickness. 

Lord, it is not fear of dying, 
Nor an impious denying 
Of Thy will, which forevermore on earth, in heaven, 
be done; 
But the love that desperate clings 
Unto these, my precious things 
In the beauty df the daylight, and the glory of the 
sun. 

Ah, Thou still art calling, calling. 
With a soft voice unappalling; 
And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting 
years ; 
When Thou knockest, even so ! 
I will arise and go. — 

Miss Mulock. 



THOU, who so long has pressed the couch of pain. 
Oh welcome, welcome back to life's free breath, 
To life's free breath and day's sweet light again. 
From the chill shadows of the gate of death ! 

For thou hadst reached the twilight bound between 
The world of spirits and this grosser sphere ; 

Dimly by thee the things of earth were seen. 
And faintly fell earth's voices on thine ear. 



00ngs in Sickness. 225 



Thou wert not weary of thy lot ; the earth 
Was ever good and pleasant in thy sight ; 

Still clung thy loves about the household hearth, 
And sweet was every day's returning light. 



Then welcome back to all thou wouldst not leave, 
To this grand march of seasons, days and hours ; 

The glory of the morn, the glow of eve, 

The beauty of the streams and stars and flowers. 



Thou bring'st no tidings of the better land. 

Even from its verge ; the mysteries opened there 

Are what the faithful heart may understand 
In its still depths, yet words may not declare. 



And well I deem, that from the brighter side 
Of life's dim border, some o'erflowing rays 

Streamed from the inner glory, shall abide 
Upon thy spirit through the coming days. 



Now may we keep thee from the balmy air 
And radiant walks of heaven a little space, 

Where He, who went before thee to prepare 
For his meek followers, shall assign thy place. 

William Cullkn Bryant. 



XI, 



SONGS IN BEREAVEMENT. 




* ' Let us go in and see how the dead rest ! " 

** Ah ! I believe there is no away ; that no love, no 
life, goes ever from us ; it goes as He went, that it may- 
come again, deeper and closer and surer, to be with us 
always — even to the end of the world." 

** O solitary love ! thou art so strong, 

I think God will take pity on thee ere long. 

And take thee where thou'lt find those angel faces fair." 



SONGS IN BEREAVEMENT, 



HE who died at Azan sends 
This to comfort all his friends. 
Faithful friends ! It lies, I know, 
Pale and white and cold as snow ; 
And ye say, " Abdallah's dead ! " 
Weeping at the feet and head, 
I can see your falling tears, 
I can hear your sighs and prayers ; 
Yet I smile and whisper this — 
" I am not the thing you kiss ; 
Cease your tears and let it lie ; 
It was mine, it is not ' I.' " 



Sweet friends ! what the women lave 
For its last bed, called the grave, 
Is a hut which I am quitting, 
Is a garment no more fitting, 



230 Songs in Bcxcavtmcnt. 

Is a cage from which at last 

Like a bird, my soul has passed ; 

Love the inmate, not the room ; 

The wearer, not the garb ; the plume 

Of the falcon, not the bars 

Which kept him from those splendid stars ! 

Loving friends ! be wise and dry 
Straightway every weeping eye : 
What ye lift upon the bier 
Is not worth a wistful tear. 
'Tis an empty sea-shell— one 
Out of which the pearl has gone : 
The shell is broken — it lies there ; 
The pearl, the all, the soul is here. 
Tis an earthen jar whose lid 
Allah sealed, the while it hid 
That treasure of its treasury, 
A mind that loved him ; let it lie ! 
Let the shard be earth's once more. 
Since the gold shines in his store ! 

Allah glorious ! Allah good ! 
Now thy world is understood ; 
Now the long, long wonder ends ! 
Yet ye weep, my erring friends, 
While the man whom ye call dead, 
In unspoken bliss, instead. 
Lives and loves you ; lost, 'tis true, 
By such light as shines for you ; 



Songs in BtxcavcmcnU 231 

But in light ye cannot see 
Of unfilled felicity — 
In enlarging Paradise — 
Lives a life that never dies. 

Farewell, friends ! Yet not farewell ; 
Where I am, ye too shall dwell. 
I am gone before your face 
A moment's time, a little space ; 
When ye come where I have stepped, 
Ye will wonder why ye wept ; 
Ye will know by wise love taught. 
That here is all, and there is naught. 
Weep awhile, if ye are fain — 
Sunshine still must follow rain — 
Only not at death ; for death 
Now we know, is that first breath 
Which our souls draw when we enter 
Life, which is of life the centre. 

Be ye certain all seems love 
Viewed from Allah's throne above ; 
Be ye stout of heart and come 
Bravely onward to your home ! 
La-il Allah ! Allah-la ! 
O Love divine ! O Love alway ! 

He who died at Azan gave 

This to those who made his grave. 

Edwin Arnold. 



232 Songs in Serearement, 



•Know that his dear children cannot die, 



But gently lapsing to an ampler life 

Through the brief sleep we misname death, awake 

In His most glorious likeness. 



SHOULD bereavement's heavy shadow 
Pall-like clothe thy stricken heart, 
And the very stars above thee 

Cease their lessons to impart, 
Think the dear ones, whose departure 
Round thy soul such darkness cast, 
Somewhere find the heavenly morning 
That may rise on thee at last. 



OUR prince has gone to his inheritance ! 
Think it not strange. What if, with slight 
half smile, 
Some- crowned king to leave his throne should 
chance, 
And try the rough ways of the world awhile ? 

Ere he had wearied of its storm and stress, 
Would he not hasten to his own again ? 

Why should he bear its labor and duress, 
And all the untold burden of its pain ? 



Songs in Bcxcammcnt. 233 

Or what if from the golden palace gate 

The king's fair son on some bright morn should 
stray ? 
Would he not send his lords of high estate 

To lead him back ere fell the close of day ? 

Julia C. R. Dorr. 



When you see a soul set free 

From this poor seed of its mortality, 

And know you saw not that which is to be, 

Watch you about the tomb 

For its immortal bloom ? 

Search for your flowers in the celestial grove : 
Look for your precious stream of human love 
In the unfathomable sea above : 

Follow your missing bird 
Where songs are always heard ! 

Phc£be Cary. 



IF for a time some loved one goes away, 
And leaves us our appointed work to do, 
Can we to him or to ourselves be true 
In mourning his departure day by day 
And so our work delay ? 



2 34 Songs in BcxcavtmcnU 

Nay, if we love and honor, we shall make 

The absence brief by doing well our task — 
Not for ourselves, but for the dear one's sake 1 
And at his coming only of him ask 

Approval of the work, which most was done ; 
Not for ourselves, but our beloved one. 

Our Father's house I know is broad and grand ; 
In it how many, many mansions are ! 
And far beyond the light ot sun or star. 
Four little ones of mine, through that fair land 

Are walking hand in hand ! 
Think you I love not, or that I forget 

These of my loins ? Still this world is fair, 
And I am singing while my eyes are wet 

With weeping in this balmy summer air : 

I am not homesick, and the children kere 
Have need of me, and so my way is clear. 

I would be joyful as my days go b}-, 

Counting God's mercies to me. He who bore 
Life's heaviest cross is mine forevermore, 
And I, who wait His coming, shall not I 

On His sure word rely ? 
So if sometimes the way be rough, and sleep 

Be heavy for the grief He sends to me, 
Or at my waking I would only weep — 

Let me be mindful these are thintrs to be. 
To work His blessed will until He come, 
And take my hand and lead me safely home. 

A. D. F. Randolph. 



Songs in SereatJentent. 235 

God keeps a niche 
In Heaven, to hold our idols ; and albeit 
He brake them to our faces, and denied 
That our close kisses should impair their white, — 
I know we shall behold them raised, complete. 
The dust swept from their beauty. 

E. B. Browning. 



N 



O bird-song floated down the hill. 
The tangled bank below was still ; 



No rustle from the birchen stem, 
No ripples from the water's hem. 

The dusk of twilight round us grew, 
We felt the falling of the dew ; 

For from us, ere the day was done, 
The wooded hills shut out the sun. 

But on the river's farther side, 
We saw the hill-tops glorified : 

A tender glow, exceeding fair, 
A dream of day without its glare, 

With us the damp, the chill, the gloom. 
With them the sunset's rosy bloom : 



236 Songs in BtxcavcmcnU 



While dark throug-h willowy vistas seen, 
The river rolled in shade between, 

From out the darkness, where we trod, 
We gazed upon those hills of God, 

Whose light seemed not of moon or sun ; 
We spake not, but our thought was one. 

We paused, as if from that bright shore 
Beckoned our dear ones gone before ; 

And stilled our beating hearts to hear 
The voices lost to mortal ear ! 

Sudden our pathway turned from night ; 
The hills swung open to the light ; 

Thro' their green gates the sunshine showed 
A long, slant splendor downward flowed. 

Down glade, and glen, and bank it rolled ; 
It bridged the shaded stream with gold, 

And, borne on piers of mist, allied 
The shadowy with the sunlit side ! 

" So," prayed we, ** when our feet draw near 
The river, dark with mortal fear, 



Songs in Bcttavcmcni. 237 

And the night cometh, chill with dew, 
O Father ! let thy light break through ! 

So let the hills of doubt divide, 

So bridge with faith the sunless tide ! 

So let the eyes that fail on earth 
On Thy eternal hills look forth ; 

And, in Thy beckoning angels, know 
The dear ones whom we loved below ! *' 

Whittier. 



ONCE, in the twilight of a wintry day, 
One passed me silent, struggling on his way. 
With head bowed low, and hands that burdens bore, 
And saw not how, a little space before, 

A woman watched his coming, where the light 
Poured a glad welcome through a window bright. 
Set thick with flowers that showed no fairer bloom 
Than her sweet face, turned outward to the gloom. 

Yet when his foot, with quick, impatient stride, 
But touched the step, the door swung open wide, 
Soft hands reached swiftly out, with eager hold. 
And drew the dear one in from storm and cold. 



238 Songs in Bcxcar)cmcni. 

O love ! whose eyes, from some celestial height, 
Behold me toiling, burdened through the night. 
Tender of every blast at which I cower. 
Yet smiling still, to know^ how brief the hour ; 

Keeping within thy radiant, love-lit home, 
Some glad surprise to whisper when I come— 
*Tis but a breath till I the door shall win. 
And thy dear hands will swiftly draw me in ! 

Emily Huntingdon Miller. 



SOULS that of His own good life partake. 
He loves as His own self ; dear as His eye 
They are to Him : He'll never them forsake : 
When they shall die, then God Himself shall die: 
They live, they live in blest eternity. 

Henry More. 



Now I need not fear for thee, 

Where thou art, all is well ; 
For thou thy Father's face doth see. 

With Jesus thou dost dwell ! 
Yes, cloudless joys around him shine. 
His heart shall never ache like mine ; 
He sees the radiant armies glow 
That keep and guide us here below. 



00ttgs in Bcxtavcmtni. 239 

He hears their singing evermore, 

His little voice too sings, 
He drinks of wisdom deepest love, 

He speaks of secret things, 
That we can never see or know 
Howe'er we seek or strive below. 
While yet amid the mists we stand 
That veil this dark and tearful land. 

O that I could but watch afar, 

And hearken but awhile 
To that sweet song that hath no jar. 

And see his heavenly smile. 
As he doth praise the holy God 
Who made him pure for that abode ! 
In tears of joy full well I know 
This burdened heart would overflow. 

And I should say : Stay here, my son, 

My wild laments are o'er, 
O well for thee that thou hast won, 

I call thee back no more, 
But come, thou fiery chariot, come ! 
And bear me swiftly to thy home. 
Where he with many a loved one dwells, 
And evermore of gladness tells. 

Then be it as my Father wills, 

I will not weep for thee ; 
Thou livest, joy thy spirit fills 

Pure sunshine thou dost see, 



240 Songs in Bereavement. 

The sunshine of eternal rest ; 

Abide my child where thou art blest; 

I with our friends will onward fare, 

And when God wills, shall find thee there. 

Paul Gerhardt, 1650. 



I HAVE no moan to make, 
No bitter tears to shed ; 
No heart, that for rebellious grief 
Will not be comforted. 

There is no friend of mine 
Laid in the earth to sleep, — 

No grave so green or heaped afresh 
By which I stand and weep. 

Though some, whose presence once 
Sweet comfort 'round me shed, 

Here in the body walk no more 
The way that I must tread. 

Not they, but what they wore 
Went to the house of fear, — 

They, were the incorruptible. 
They left corruption here. 



Songs in Jineavcmcnt, 241 

The veil of flesh that hid, 

Is softly drawn aside, 
More clearly I behold them now 

Than those who never died. 

Who died ! what means that word, 

Of men so much abhorred ? 
Caught up in clouds of heaven to be 

Forever with the Lord ! 

To give this body, racked 

With mortal ills and cares, 
For one as glorious and as fair 

As our Redeemer wears. 

To leave our shame and sin, 

Our hunger and disgrace ; 
To come unto ourselves, to turn 

And find our Father's face. 

To run, to leap, to walk ; — 

To quit our beds of pain ; 
And live where the inhabitants 

Are never sick again. 

To sit no longer dumb, 

Nor halt nor blind ; to rise; 
To praise the Healer with our tongue, 

And see Him with our eyes. 



242 Songs in Bcxcavcmcni. 

To leave cold winter snows, 

And burning- summer heats ; 
And walk in soft, white, tender light, 

About the golden streets. 

Thank God for all mjy loved 

That, out of pain and care, 
Have safely reached the heavenly hights, 

And stay to meet me there ! 

Not these I mourn, I know 

Their joy by faith sublime — 
But for myself, that still below 

Must wait my appointed time. 

Phcebk Carv. 



GOOD night ! good night ! as we so oft have said 
Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days 
That are no more, and shall no more return, 
Thou has but taken thy lamp and gone to bed ; 
I stay a little longer, as one stays 
To cover up the embers that still bum. 

Longfellow. 



IT sometimes happens that two friends will meet. 
And, with a smile and touch of hands, again 
Go on their way along the noisy street. 
Each is so sure of all the friendship sweet, 

The loving silence gives no thought of pain. 



00ngs in Bereavement. 243 

And so, I think, those friends whom we call dead 

Are with us. It may be some quiet hour, 
Or time of busy work for hand or head — 
Their love fills all the heart that missed them so. 

They bring a sweet assurance of the life 
Serene, above the worry that we know ; 

And we grow braver for the comfort brought. 
Why should we mourn because they do not speak 

Our words that lie so far below their thought ? 

Sunday Afternoon. 



WHAT to shut eyes has God revealed ? 
What hear the ears that death has sealed ? 
What undreamed beauty, passing show. 
Requites the loss of all we know ? 

O silent land, to which we move, 
Enough if there alone be love ; 
And mortal need can ne'er outgrow 
What it is waiting to bestow ! 

O white soul ! from that far-off shore 
Float some sweet song the waters o'er ; 
Our faith confirm, our fears dispel. 
With the old voice we loved so well ! 

Whittibr. 



244 Songs in B^reatJentcnt. 

1SIT beside the sea this autumn day, 
When sky and tide are ravishingly blue, 
And melt into each other. Down the bay, 
The stately ships drift by so still and slow, 
That on the horizon's verge I scarce may know 
Which be the sails along the wave that glow. 

And which the clouds that float the azure through. 



From beds of golden-rod and asters, steal 

The south winds, soft as any breath of May ; 
High in the sunny air the white gulls wheel, 
As noiseless as the clouds they poise below; 
And in the hush the white waves come and go, 
As if a spell entranced them, and their flow 
Echoed the beat of oceans far away. 



O loved and lost ! can you not stoop to me 

This perfect morn, when heaven and earth are 



one 



? 



The south winds breathe of you ; I only see 
(Alas the vision sweet can naught avail ! ) 
Your image in the cloud, the wave, the sail ; 
And heed nor calm, nor storm, nor bliss nor bale. 
Remembering you have gone beyond the sun. 



One look into your eyes; one clasp of hands: 
One murmured, " Lo I love you as before ;" 
And I would give you to your viewless lands 



Songs in Sereatjetnent. 245 

And wait my time, with never tear or sigh ; — 
But not a whisper comes from earth or sky, 
And the sole answer to my yearning cry, 
Is the faint wash of waves along the shore. 



Lord, dost Thou see how dread a thing is death ? 

When silence such as this is all it leaves ? 
To watch in agony the parting breath 
Till the fond eyes are closed, the dear voice still. 
And know that not the wildest prayer can thrill 
Thee, to awake them, but our grief must fill 

Alike the rosy morns, the rainy eves. 



Ah ! Thou dost see ; and not a pang is vain ! — 

Some joy of every anguish must be born ; 
Else this one planet's weight of loss and pain 
Would stay the stars in sympathetic woe. 
And make the suns move pale and cold and slow. 
Till all was black and void, the throne below. 
And night shut down without a gleam of morn. 

But mark ! The sun goes radiant to his goal 
While winds make music on the laughing sea ; 

And with his set, the starry host will roll 

Celestial splendors over mead and main ; 

Lord, can Thy worlds be glad and death enchain ? 

Nay ! 'tis but crowning for immortal reign 
In the pure realm where all abide with thee. 



246 Songs in BereatJentent. 

What star has seen the sun at cloudless noon ! 

What chr}^salis knows aught of wings that soar ? 
O blessed souls ! how can I hope the boon 
Of look or word from you, the glorified, 
Until for me the shining gates swing wide ? — 
Welcome the day when the great deeps divide, 

And we are one, in life forever more. 

Edena Dean Proctor. 



WOULD that I too were lying 
Beneath the churchyard sod 
With my limbs at rest in the green earth's breast. 
And my soul at home with God." 

I never lay me down to sleep at night 

But in my heart I sing that little song : 

The angels hear it, as a pitying throng. 

They touch my burning lids with fingers, bright 

As moonbeams, pale, impalpable, and light; 

And when my daily pious tasks are done, 

And all my patient prayers said one by one, 

God hears it. Seems it sinful in his sight 

That round my slow burnt offering, of quenched 

will, 
One quivering human sigh creeps, wind-like, still ? 



00ngs in Bcxtavcmcnt. 247 

That when my orisons celestial fail 
Rises one note of natural human wail ? 

Ere long 
I trust God will forgive my singing" that poor song. 

A year ago I bade a little one 

Bear upon pilgrimage a heavy load 

Of alms ; he cried, half fainting on the road, 

" Weary, O weary, would the day were done ! " 

Him I reproved with tears, and said, "Go on ! 

Nor pause, nor murmur till thy task be o'er — " 

Would not God say the same to me, and more ? 

1 will not sing that song ! Thou dearest one, 

Stretch thy steadfast hand 
And let mine grasp it. Now I also, stand. 
My woman weakness nerved to strength like thine ; 
We'll quaff life's aloe-cup as if 'twere wine 
Each to the other; journeying on apart. 
Till at heaven's golden doors we two leap heart to 
heart. 

Jean Ingelow. 



THEY never quite leave us — the friends who have 
passed 
Through the shadows of death to the sunlight above ; 
A thousand sweet memories are holding them fast 
To the places they blessed with their presence and 
love. 



248 Songs in Bncavtmtnt. 

The work which they left and the books which they 
read 
Speak mutely, though still with an eloquence rare, 
And the songs that they sung, and dear words they 
said. 
Still linger and sigh on the desolate air. 



And oft when alone, and as oft in the throng 
Or when evil allures us, or sin draweth nigh, 

A whisper comes gently, ** Nay, do not the wrong,' 
And we feel that our weakness is pitied on high. 



In the dew-threaded morn and the opaline eve. 
When the children are merry, or crimsoned with 
sleep. 

We are comforted, even as lonely we grieve, 

For the thought of their rapture forbids us to weep. 



We toil at our task in the burden and heat 

Of life's passionate noon. They are folded in peace. 

It is well. We rejoice that their heaven is sweet. 
And one day for us all the bitter will cease. 



We, too, will go home o'er the river of rest 

As the strong and the lovely before us have gone. 

Our sun will go down in the beautiful west, 
To rise in the glory that circles the throne. 



gongs in ISextawmcni. 249 

Until then we are bound by our love and our faith 
To the saints who are walking in Paradise fair : 
They have passed beyond sight, at the touching of 
death, 
But they live like ourselves, in God's infinite care. 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



OH, blessed are the dead ! 
Why will we mourn for them ? 
No more the stormy billows here 

With weary heart they stem ! 
No more they struggle here below 
To guide, through many a gulf of woe, 

Their being's fragile bark ; 
But harbored in eternal rest. 
By far-off islands of the blest. 
Calm on a sunlit ocean's breast, 

Anchor their fearless ark. 



Seem they to sleep ? 'tis but as sleeps 
The seed within the earth. 

To burst forth to the brilliant morn 
Of a more glorious birth ; 

Seem they to feel no breath of love 

That o'er their icy brow will move 
With tearful whispers warm ? 



250 Songs in J^cvzantrntnU 

'Tis that upon their spirit's ear 
All Heaven's triumphant music clear 
Is bursting, where there comes not near 
One tone of sorrow s storm ! 



Oh ! give them up to Him, whose own 

Those dear redeemed ones are I 

Lo ! on their wakening souls He breaks 

' The bright and morning star ! ' 
His are they now, for evermore,— 
The mystery and the conflict o'er. 

The Eternal City won ! 
As conquerors let them pass and go 
Up from the fight of faith below, 
The peace of God at last to know 



In kingdoms of the sun ! 



Eliza Mary Hamilton. 



STILL always groweth in me the great wonder, 
When all the fields are blushing like the dawn, 
And only one poor little flower ploughed under, 
That I can see no flowers, that one being gone : 
No flower of all, because of one being gone. 



Songs in i3er easement. 251 

Aye, ever in me groweth the great wonder, 
When all the hills are shining, white and red, 

And only one poor little flower ploughed under, 
That it were all as one if all were dead. > 



I cannot feel the beauty of the roses ; 

Their soft leaves seem to me but layers of dust ; 

Out of my opening hand each blessing closes : 
Nothing is left me but my hope and trust, 
Nothing but heavenly hope and heavenly trust. 

I get no sweetness of the sweetest places ; 

My house, my friends no longer comfort me ; 
Strange somehow grow the old familiar faces ; 

For I can nothing have, not having thee. 

Having, I have them not — strange contradiction ! 
Heaven needs must cast its shadow on our earth ; 

Yea, drown us in the waters of affliction 

Breast high, to make us know our treasure's worth, 
To make us know how much our love is worth. 

And while I mourn, the anguish of my story 

Breaks, as the wave breaks on the hindering bar : 

Thou art but hidden in the deeps of glory, 
Even as the sunshine hides the lessening star. 
And with true love, I love thee from afar. 



252 Songs in Bereavement. 

I know our Father must be good, not evil, 
And murmur not, for faith's sake, at my ill ; 

Nor at the mystery of the working cavil, 

That somehow bindeth all things in His will, 
And, though He slay me, makes me trust Him 
still. 

Alice Gary. 



SAYING, "There is no hope," he stepped 
A little from our side and passed 
To hope sternal. At the last, 
Crying, "There is no rest," he slept. 



A sweeter spirit ne'er drew breath ; 

Strange grew the chill upon the air, 
But as he murmured, " This is death," 

Lo ! life itself did meet him there. 



He loved the Will ; he did the deed. 

Such love shall live. Such doubt is dust. 
He served the truth ; he missed the creed. 

Trust him to God. Dear is the trust. 

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 



Songs in i3erieatJentent. 253 

STRANGE, strange for thee and me, 
Sadly afar ; 
Thou safe beyond, above, 

I 'neath the star; 
Thou where flowers deathless spring, 

I where they fade ; 
Thou in God's paradise, 

I 'mid time's shade 1 

Thou where each gale breathes balm, 

I tempest tossed ; 
Thou where true joy is found, 

I where 'tis lost ; 
Thou counting ages thine, 

I not the morrow ; 
Thou learning more of bliss, 

I more of sorrow. 

Thou in eternal peace, 

I 'mid earth's strife ; 
Thou where care hath no name, 

I where 'tis life ; 
Thou without need of hope, 

1 where 'tis vain ; 
Thou with wings dropping light, 

I with time's chain. 

Strange, strange for thee and me, 

Loved, loving ever ; 
Thou by Life's deathless fount, 

I near Death's river ; 



254 0ongs in Sereatietnent. 

Thou winning" Wisdom's love, 
I strength to trust ; 

Thou 'mid the seraphim, 
I in the dust ! 



Phcebe Cary. 



SHE shut the door and turned away, 
Some task was waiting for her hand : 
She shut another door, where lay 

Her sweet dead hope, — you understand ? 
*' And they shall weep no more," God saith. 
" Nor taste of pain." Oh, Life ! Oh, Death ! 

Hattie Tyng Griswold. 



Go not far in the land of light ! 
A little while by the golden gate, 
Lest that I lose you out of sight, 
Wait, my darling, wait. 

Forever now from your happy eyes 
Life's scenic picture has passed away; 

You have entered into realities. 
And I am yet at the play ! 



Songis in Hctcar^cmcnl. 255 



But the last sad act is drawing on ; 

A little while by the golden gate 
Of the holy heaven to which you are gone, 

Wait, my darling, wait. 

Alice Gary. 



THERE'S not an hour but from some sparkling 
beach 
Go joyful men, in fragile ships, to sail 
By unknown seas to unknown lands. They hail 
The freshening winds with eager hope and speech 
Of wondrous countries which they soon will reach. 
Left on the shore, we wave our hands, with pale, 
Wet cheeks, but hearts that are ashamed to quail 
Or own the grief which selfishness would teach. 
Oh ! Death, the fairest lands beyond thy sea 
Lie waiting, and thy barks are swift and stanch 
And ready. Why do we reluctant launch ? 
And when our friends their heritage have claimed 
Of thee, and entered on it, rich and free, 
Oh ! why of sorrow are we not ashamed ? 

Helen Jackson. 



IF, as we dream, in every radiant star 
We see a shining gate through which the soul 
In its degrees of being, will ascend — 
If, when these weary organs drop away 



250 



Songs in BcxtavemznL 



We shall forget their uses and commune 
With angels and each other, as the stars 
Mingle their light in silence and in love — 
What is this fleshly fetter of a day 
That we should bind it with immortal flowers ! 
How do we ever gaze upon the sky, 
And watch the lark soar up till he is lost, 
And turn to our poor perishing dreams away, 
Without one tear for our imprisoned wings ! 

N. P. Willis* 




XII. 



SONGS IN DEATH 




k:^-^'- 



** Shall we follow the Hand that guides us on our long 
unknown journey, with less of gladness and confident 
trust than the birds who cross leagues of sea guided by 
the same Hand ? " 

*' To pass through the valley of the shadow of death is 
the way home." 

" As in this life we woke into consciousness in the arms 
of friends, so we may venture to hope that our next wak- 
ing will be bosomed by that Eternal Love which provided 
for this shelter here. " 



SONGS IN DEATH 



•' How are the dead raised up, and with what bcxly do they 
come ? " 



THE waves, they are wildly heaving 
And bearing me out from the shore, 
And I know of the things I am leaving, 

But not of the things before. 
O Lord of Love, whom the shape of a dove 

Came down and hovered o'er. 
Descend to-night with heavenly light, 
And show me the farther shore. 



There is midnight darkness o'er me, 

And 'tis light, more light, I crave ; 
The billows behind and before me 

Are gaping each with a grave ; 
Descend to-night, O Lord of might. 

Who died our souls to save; 
Descend to-night, my Lord, my Light, 

And walk with me on the wave ! 



26o Songs in JUeatl). 

My heart is heavy to breaking 

Because of the mourners' sighs, 
For they cannot see the awak'ning 

Nor the body with which we arise. 
Thou, who for sake of men didst break 

The awful seal of the tomb — 
Show them the way into life, I pray, 

And the body with which we come ! 

Comfort their pain and pining 

For the nearly wasted sands. 
With the many mansions shining 

In the house not made with hands: 
And help them by faith to see through death 

To that brighter and better shore, 
Where they never shall weep who are fallen asleep, 

And never be sick any more. 

Alice Gary. 



'* Break, O Morning of the Everlasting Day ! ^ 

SEE how the far east brightens ! 
Hear ye the angels singing, 
Through morning's fresh'ning breath ? 
No darkness longer frightens : 
Now, rich with mercy, bringing 
Your help, comes gracious Death. 



Songs in Slleatl). 261 

Then give him friendly greeting, 
He will be friendly too, 
And bring, each joy completing, 
His olden bliss to you. 



To him — whose near end stealing 

Through heart and limb presages night, — 

Who kneeling, 

Who kneeling, sure appealing, 

Turns soul and hands 

Where Mercy stands, 

The Lord will make it light. 

Tr./rom FouQufe, by Andrews. 



1AM going away, dear friend. 
Away to a brighter land ; 
And even now, as the shadows fall, 
I wait the voice of the Angel's call 

And the touch of the Angel's hand. 



The way hath been long, dear friend. 

Weary and long and lone ; 
And oh ! the pain of the wounded heart. 
The silent pang and the secret smart ! 
May they never to thee be known. 



262 Songs in ?Ueatl). 

Yet bright was the prospect, friend, 

When the path before me lay ; 
When love's sweet blossoms were round my feet, 
And the far-off future lay clear and sweet 

In the flush of rising day. 

Oh ! beautiful dreams of youth ! 

Oh ! visions that fade so soon ! 
And oh ! the desolate, dreary way. 
When back we loolc through the darkened day 

To the sun that set ere noon. 

But the journey at last is o'er 

And the struggle and toil are past ; 
And the holy angels who led me on 
Till the fight was fought and the victory won, 
They have brought me home at last. 

Home, to an endless rest ; 

Home to my Father — God ; 
And I bless his name, that through wrong and loss, 
I have borne the weight of the iron cross, 

And the thorny path have trod. 

Oh ! sweet is the thought and strange. 

That so near unto Him I stand ; 
That ere the shadows of night shall close 
I shall drink of the River of Life that flows 

In the beautiful Spirit Land ! 



Songs in Sleattj. 263 

That my mother's hand I shall clasp 
And my father's smile shall see ; 
And oh ! the thrill of the glad surprise 
When I meet the gaze of the dearest eyes 
That ever gleamed on me ! 



I know they are near me now ; 

I know that they stand and wait ; 
And I feel the flush of a love divine, 
And a light as of heaven about me shine 

As I kneel at the golden gate. 



And lo ! the gates ajar, 

And the light of immortal day ! 
I see the angels ; I hear their call ; 
And earth falls back like a gloomy pall, 

As they bear my soul away ! 

Susan Archer Weiss. 



AT evening time let there be light : 
Life's little day draws near its close ; 
Around me fall the shades of night, 
The night of death, the grave's repose : 
To crown my joys, to end my woes, 
At evening time let there be light. 



264 Songs in IHeatl). 

Stormy and dark hath been my day, 
Yet rose the morn divinely bright ; 

Dews, birds and blossoms cheered the way ; 

Oh, for one sweet, one parting ray ! 
At evening time there shall be light ; 

For God hath spoken — it must be : 

Fear, doubt and anguish, take their flight. 

His glory now is risen on me ! 

Mine eyes shall his salvation see : 

— 'Tis evening time, and there is light ! 

James Montgomery. 



As one who peers 

Into the dark bewildered, and descries 
A guiding lamp within the casement set. 
Knowing it homeward leads his weary feet, 
So I, with yearning heart and wistful eyes, 
As in a vision wonderful and sweet. 

Beyond the grave, behold it shining yet. 

Archbishop Laighton. 



SHE said : " I am come to heaven at last. 
And rU do as the blessed do ! ** 
But the custom of earth was stronger than Heaven, 

And the habit of life than death, — 
How should anguish as old as thought 
Be healed by the end of breath ? 



Songs in SDeatl). 265 



Tissue and nerve and pulse of her soul 
Had absorbed the disease of woe. 

The strangest of all the angels there 
Was Joy (Oh the wretched know !) 



•' I must learn to be happy in heaven," she said, 
" As we learned to suffer below." — 



But the saddest spirit in the world 
Came to herself at last. 

EuzABETH Stuart Phklps. 



So let us die ; 
Yield up our little lives as the flowers do; 
Believing He'll not lose one single soul, — 
One germ of his immortal. Naught of His 
Or Him can perish ; therefore let us die. 

Miss Mulock. 



LOOK above thee— never eye 
-/ Saw such pleasures as await thee ; 
Thought ne'er reached such scenes of joy 



266 QouQB in SDjeatl). 

As are there prepared to meet thee ; 
Light undying, seraph's lyres, 
Angel welcomes, cherub choirs. 

Smiling through heaven's doors to greet thee. 

BOWRING. 



I HEAR a voice you cannot hear, 
Which says I must not stay; 
I see a hand you cannot see, 
Which beckons me away. 



TiCKELL. 



What is that, we call death ? 
Is it to drop with all our hopes and fears 
Down to the silence of eternal years, 

When ends this laboring breath ? 
To have no part in all this wondrous whole. 
While suns shall rise and starry heavens roll ? 

Is this, what men call death ? 



Hear what the Master saith : — 
" My father's house has mansions large and fair, 
Where happy souls released from earthly care. 



00ngs in SDeatl). 267 

Shall breathe in heavenly breath ; 
So hence I go to make for you a place, 
To come again and bring you face to face, 

No more to taste of death." 

The ransomed of the Lord 
On Zion's clear and holy heights shall tread, 
With everlasting joy upon their head. 

And songs in full accord ; 
Here joy and gladness ever shall remain. 
While far behind them lie the realms of pain : 

God's last and grand reward. 

Increase N. Tarbox. 



REACH down the wanderer's staff, 
Tie on the sandals on the traveler's feet; 
The wan-eyed moon weeps in the watery east; 
Gird up the loins and let me now depart ! 

Frances Kembi.e Butler. 



UNTO Him who washed us 
Whiter than snow 
We shall pass through the shallow river 
With hearts aglow. 



268 Songs in JHeatlj. 

For the Lord's voice on the water 

Lingereth sweet, 
" He that is washed, needeth only 

To wash his feet ! " 

B. M. 



EARTH, with its dark and dreadful ills, 
Recedes and fades away ; 
Lift up your heads, ye heavenly hills : 
Ye gates of death, give way ! 

My soul is full of whispered song ; 

My blindness is my sight ; 
The shadows that I feared so long 

Are all alive with light. 

The while my pulses faintly beat, 

My faith doth so abound, 
I feel grow firm beneath my feet 

The green, immortal ground. 

That faith to me a courage gives , 

Low as the grave to go : 
I know that my Redeemer lives, — 

That I shall live I know. 

Alice Cary. 



gongs in iUeatl). 269 

CLOSE, close, beloved mine, 
Around my heart entwine, 
In Love's strong clasping, as I hold thee, so. 
Above the sky that leans 
Over these deathfu' scenes 
To Him, the Eternal Life and Love, we go. 



VITAL spark of heavenly flame ! 
Quit, O quit this mortal frame ! 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, 
O the pain, the bliss of dying ! 
Cease fond Nature, cease thy strife. 
Let me languish into life ! 

Hark! they whisper; angels say 
Sister spirit, come away ! 
What is this absorbs me quite ? 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? 
Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? 

The world recedes: it disappears! 
Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 

With sounds seraphic ring: 
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly ! 
O Grave ! where is thy victory ? 

O Death ! where is thy sting ? 

Alexander Pope. 



270 Songs in ?E)jeatl]. 

OH, what will be that life to come 
Beyond this vale of tears 
To which we pass full soon ? 

What will it be ? Oh, tell me pray, 
So that my fears may pass away. 



Oh, in that life which is to come 
Will there be pain as now ? 

Will hearts there ache as they do here. 
Will souls with burdens bow ? 

Oh, would that I might know full well 

Ere to that land I go to dwell. 



Oh, in that life which is to come 

Will there be joy supreme, 
And on my path from day to day 

Will light effulgent stream ? 
Will flowers bloom with fragrance sweet, 
And all sweet things my senses greet ? 



Oh, in that life which is to come 
Shall I then clasp the hands 

Of those I knew and loved so here ? 
Shall I then join the bands 

Of free and happy souls above 

Where all is bliss and all is love ? 



00ng0 in Deatl). 271 

And no more parting will there be 

In that sweet life to come ? 
Will w^ant and wandering ever end, 

And shall we dwell at home 
Within a Father's mansion grand, 
Protected by His loving hand ? 



Oh, soul ! there comes a voice to thee 

Sounding the waters o'er, 
In love it says, in truth it says, 

" Thou shalt bear grief no more. 
And all thy tears be wiped away 
When in this land of cloudless day." 



For in this land no graves are seen, 
No links are snapped in twain, 

And they that meet may love for aye 
And never part again. 

No sickness, pain, or dying here. 

No blighted buds or leaflets sere. 



Oh, to that land then let me haste, 

Borne on the wings of Time ; 
I long to greet that happy land. 

That blest immortal clime, 
Where I shall hear the Saviour say 
The former things are passed away. 

G. W. Ckofts. 



212 Songs in IDeati). 

THE sands of time are sinking, 
The dawn of heaven breaks, 
The summer morn I've sighed for, 

The fair sweet morn awakes ! 
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, 

But dayspring is at hand. 
And glory — glory dwelleth 
In Immanuel's land. 

Oh, well it is forever ! 

Oh, well for evermore ! 
My nest hung in no forest 

Of all this death-doomed shore; 
Yea, let the vain world vanish. 

As from the ship the strand, 
While glory — glory dwelleth 

In Immanuel's land. 

I've wrestled on tow^ard heaven 
'Gainst storm and wind and tide: 

Now like a weary traveler 
That leaneth on his guide, 

Amid the shades of evening- 
While sinks life's lingering sand, 

I hail the glory dawning 
From Immanuel's land. 

With mercy and with judgment 
My web of time He w^ove, 

And all the dew^s of sorrow 
Were lustered with His love : 



Songs in JDeatl]. 273 

I'll bless the Hand that guided, 

I'll bless the Heart that planned, 
When throned where glory dwelleth, 

In Immanuel 's land. 



TURN the Past's mirror backward. Its shadows 
removed, 
The dim confused mass becomes softened, sublime : 
I have worked — I have felt — I have lived, I have 
loved, 
And each was a step towards the goal I now climb : 
Thou, God, Thou sawest the good of it. 

Miss Mulock. 



COME now, all ye terrors ! sally ! 
Muster forth into the valley, 
Where triumphant darkness hovers 
With a sable wing, that covers 
Brooding horror. Come, thou death, 
Let the damps of thy dull breath 
Overshadow e'en the shade. 
And make darkness* self afraid ; 
There, my feet, even there, doth find 
Way for a resolved mind : 
Still, my Shepherd— still, my God, 
Thou art with me ; still Thy rod 



274 Songs in SJeatl) 



And Thy staff, whose influence 
Gives direction, gives defense. 

Lighting the eternities. 

Thence my ripe soul will I breathe 
Warm into the arms of Death. 



Richard Crashaw, 1650. 



LIFE ! we have been long together, 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather, 
*Tis hard to part when friends are dear, 
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear. 
Then steal away, give little warning. 

Say not good night. 

But in some brighter clime 

Bid me good-morning. 

Mrs. Barbauld. 



ON a far shore my land swam far from my sight, 
But I could see familiar, native stars ; 
My home was shut from me by ocean bars. 
Yet home hung there above me in the night ; 



Sonqs in ?Ileati). 275 

Unchanged fell down on me Orion's light ; 
As always, Venus rose, and fiery Mars ; 
My own the Pleiades yet, and without jars 

In wonted tones, sang all the heavenly height ; 

So when in death from underneath my feet 
Rolls the round world, I now do see the sky 
Of God's truth, burning yet familiarly ; 

My native constellations I can greet ; 
I lose the outer, not the inner eye, 
The landscape, not the soul's stars, as I die. 



. . . Not in vain do we 
Read signals of grander destiny. 
And in our exile pine for kingly state. 
The sun is but the shadow ; the unseen 
Is the true light, and changeless and serene, 
Ciieers our approach to that mysterious goal 
Called death 1 which is the daybreak of the soul. 

Frances L. Mace, in Independent, 



THE sufferer sings — his end is near ; 
From sin and pain he bursts away, 
Trouble shall die this very day ! 

Tr. from Schmolke by Gurney. 



276 SotiQQ in JDeatl). 

NEVER think of me as lying 
By the dismal mold o'erspread ; 
But about the soft white pillow 

Folded underneath my head, 
And of summer flowers weaving 

Their rich 'broidery o'er my bed. 
Think of the immortal spirit 

Living up above the sky, 
And of how my face is wearing 

Light of immortality ; 
Looking earthward, is o'erleaning 

The white bastion of the sky. 

Phcebe Cary. 



I KNOW not where Thine islands lift 
Their fronded palms in air, 
I only know we cannot drift 
Beyond Thy love and care. 



Whittier. 



" TJ E does well who does his best ; 
11 Is he weary ? let him rest." 

Brothers ! I have done my best, 
I am weary — let me rest. 



Songs in IDjeatl). 277 

After toiling oft in vain, 
Baffled, yet to struggle fain ; 
After toiling long, to gain 
Little good with mickle pain, 
Let me rest. But lay me low 
Where the hedgeside roses blow ; 
Where the little daisies grow, 
Where the winds a-Maying go ; 
Where the footpath rustics plod ; 
Where the breeze-bowed poplars nod ; 
Where the old woods worship God, 
Where His pencil paints the sod ; 
Where the wedded throstle sings, 
Where the young bird tries his wings ; 
Where the wailing plover swings. 
Near the runlet's rushing springs ! 
Where, at times, the tempest's roar, 
Shaking distant sea and shore, 
Still will rave old Barfisdale o'er. 
To be heard by me no more ! 
There, beneath the breezy west, 
Tired and thankful, let me rest, 
Like a child that sleepeth best 
On its mother's gentle' breast. 



WHY weep ye for the falling 
Of the transient twilight gloom ? 
I am weary of the journey, 

And have come in sight of home. 



278 Songs in ?Deatl). 

I can see a white procession 

Sweep melodiously along, 
And I would not have your mourning 

Drown the sweetness of their song. 

The battle strife is ended ; 

I have scaled the hindering wall, 
And I am putting off the armor 

Of the soldier — that is all ! 

Would you hide me from my pleasures ? 

Would you hold me from my rest ? 
From my serving and my waiting 

I am called to be a guest ! 

• 

Of its heavy, hurtful burdens 

Now my spirit is released ; 
I am done with fasts and scourges, 

And am bidden to the feast. 

While you see the sun descending. 
While you lose me in the night, 

Lo, the heavenly morn is breaking, 
And my soul is in the light. 

I, from faith to sight am rising. 
While in deeps of doubt you sink ; 

'Tis the glory that divides us, 
Not the darkness, as vou think. 



Songs in ?Ileatli. 279 

Then lift up your drooping eyelids, 

And take heart of better cheer ; 
'Tis the cloud of coming spirits 

Makes the shadows that ye fear. 

O they come to bear me upward 

To the mansions of the sky, 
And to change as I am changing 

Is to live, and not to die. 

Is to leave the pain, the sickness, 

And the smiting of the rod, 
And to dwell among the angels 

In the City of our God. 

Alice Carv. 



AND this is death ! Think you that raptured soul 
Now walking humbly in the golden streets, 
Bearing the precious burden of a love 
Too great for utterance, or with hushed heart 
Drinking the music of the ransomed throng, 
Counts death an evil ? evil, sickness, pain, 
Calamity, or aught that God prescribed 
To cure it of its sin, and bring it where 
The healing hand of Christ might touch it ? No ! 
He is a man to-night — a man in Christ. 
This was his childhood, here ; and as we give 



28o Songs in ?lD^atli. 

A smile of wonder to the little woes 

That drew the tears from out our own young eyes — 

The kind corrections and severe constraints 

Imposed by those who loved us — so he sees 

A father's chastisement in all the ill 

That filled his life with darkness ; so he sees 

In every evil a kind instrument 

To chasten, elevate, correct, subdue, 

And fit him for that heavenly estate — 

Saintship in Christ — the Manhood Absolute. 

J. G. Holland. 




XIII. 
THE SONG OF SONGS 

AND 

"THE NEW SONG." 

To be sung Only 
When the Night-Songs are Past. 



X5-r3^ 




Then shall the Day dawn, and the Day-star arise in 
your hearts.'' 

* ' And there shall be no Night there ! '* 



THE SONG OF SONGS. 



ASCEND, Beloved to the love; 
This is the day of days ; 
To-night the bridal song- is sung, 
To-night ten thousand harps are strung 
In sympathy with heart and tongue, 
Unto the Lamb's high praise. 

The festal lamps are lighting now, 

In the great marriage hall; 
By angel hands the board is spread, 
By angel hands the sacred bread 
Is on the golden table laid ; 

The King his own doth call. 



The gems are gleaming from the roof, 

Like stars in night's round dome; 
The festal wreaths are hanging there, 
The festal fragrance fills the air. 
And flowers of heaven divinely fair 
Unfold their happy bloom. 



284 ®l]e Song of Songs. 

Long, long deferred, now come at last, 

The Lamb's glad wedding day ; 
The guests are gathering to the feast, 
The seats in heavenly order placed, 
The royal throne above the rest; — 
How bright the new array. 



Sorrow and sighing are no more, 

The weeping hours are past ; 
To-night the waiting will be done, 
To-night the wedding robe put on, 
The glory and the joy begun ; 
The crown has come at last. 



Without, within, is light, is light; 

Around, above, is love, is love ; 
We enter to go out no more, 
We raise the song unsung before, 
We doff the sackcloth that we wore, 

For all is joy above. 



Ascend, Beloved, to the life ; 

Our days of death are o'er; 
Mortality has done its worst. 
The fetters of the tomb are burst. 
The last has now become the first, 

Forever, evermore. 



SDlie Song of Songs. 



2^5 



Ascend, Beloved, to the feast, 

Make haste, thy day is come ; 
Thrice blessed are they the Lamb doth call, 
To share the heavenly festival 
In the new Salem's palace halls, 



Our everlasting home. 



HORATIUS BONAR. 




THE NEW SONG. 

ABOVE the dissonance of Time, 
And discord of its angry words, 
I hear the everlasting chime, 
The music of unjarring chords. 

I bid it welcome ; and my haste 
To join it cannot brook delay; — 

O song of morning, come at last, 
And ye who sing it, come away ! 

O song of light, and dawn, and bliss, 

Sound over earth, and fill these skies, 

Nor ever, ever, ever cease, 

Thy soul entrancing melodies. 

HORATIUS BONAR. 




INDEX OF FIRST LINES, 



Above the dissonance of time. . . . 
Across the field of daily work. . . 
Across the hedges tnick with 

autumn flowers 

Ah ! for the heart that goes 

Ah, long the storm, yet none the 

less 

Ah me ! the ways of God with 

man 

A life of waiting lived as for the 

Lord 

A little bird flew my window by. 
A little bird I am. Prison Hymn 

of 

All common things, each day's 

events 

All is of God ! If He but wave 

His hand 

All the day long I seem to float 

away 

Among so many can He care } 

And is there care in heaven ? 

And so we yearn and so we sigh . , 
And this is death ! think you that 

raptured soul 

Ascend, beloved to the love 

A raveled rainbow overhead 

As one who peers 

As on wrecked battle grounds 

As the bird trims her to the gale. . 
As the poor panting hart to the 

waterbrook runs 

As torrents in summer. From 

'^The Nun of Nidaros." 

At evening time let there be light. 



AUTHOR. PAGE. 

Horatius Bonar 286 

William C. Gannett 169 



167 

Howard Glyndon 146 

Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 20 

Mary Bradley «* 27 



Behold the throng . . . 
Be not amazed at life. 



Miss Mulock 213 

Madam Guyon 114 

Longfellow 179 

Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 37 

Helen Campbell. 216 

Mrs. A. D. T.Whitney...... 149 

Edmund Spenser. . 77 

Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 35 

J. G. Holland 279 

Horatius Bonar 283 

Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney n 

Archbishop Lcighton 264 

Adelaide George Bennett... 54 

Emerson 144 

Alice Gary 167 

Longfellovv' 52 

James Montgomery 263 

Abraham Perry Miller 122 

Dean Alford 133 



M Mribcx of first Cin^s. 



AUTHOR. PAGE. 

Be Still, my soul, Jehovah loveth 

thee Horatius Bonar 92 

Blessed are they who are home- 
sick Heinrich Stilling- 56 

Blest by whom most the cross is 
known. Translated from 
Schmolke by Gurney 88 

Build thee most stately mansions, 

O my soul Oliver Wendell Holmes 202 

But all through life I see a cross. Olrig Grange 82 

But who shall praise God in the 

night? B. M 4 

Caught in the bitter net of cir- 
cumstance 95 

Close, close, beloved mine 269 

Come in, O gracious Form, I say 107 

Com« now, all ye terrors ! sally !.. Richard Crashaw 273 

Content thee — so the angel saith — 222 

Crush the dead leaves under thy 

feet 51 

Dear night I this world's defeat. . Henry Vaughan 11 

Did not life's darkness dim our 

sight Potters American Monthly. 33 

Down to the borders of the silent 

land. • Washington Gladden 13T 

Earth with its dark and dreadful 

ills Alice Cary 268 

Eternal spirit of the chainless 

mind Byron 120 

Ever and ever the world goes 

round , 175 

Every day is a fresh beginning. . . Susan Coolidge 53 

Fasten your soul so high that con- 
stantly E. B. Browning 105 

Father ! I must lean hard 215 

Forgive! that oft my spirit wears. Angelus Silesius 167 

Fret not thyself so sorely, heart 

of mine 90 

From the mountain-side of years. A. P. Miller 193 

Give strength whene'er our 

strength must fail Marperger 66 

Go breathe it in the ear Longfefiow 128 

God keeps a niche in heaven E. B. Browning 235 

God lifts the soul or casts it down . A. P. Miller 49 

God liveth ever Zihn 72 

God plumeth many a spirit Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 115 



3nbcx of MxQi £in^s. 289 



AUTHOR. PAGE. 

God's justice is a bed, where we 85 

Go not far in the land of light. . . Alice Gary 254 

Good night ! good night ! as we 

so ott have said :. . . Longfellow 242 

Good night my foe ! not all the 

wrong is thine Harriet McEwen Kimball ... 91 

Great God, we know not what we 

know Alice Cary 27 

Great truths are greatly won, not 

found by chance Horatius Bonar 68 

Gropest thou in failure's valley ? 82 

Groping blindly in the darkness. . Longfellow 17 



Happiest man among men MacCarthy 100 

Hark ! the stars are talking Geo. Macdonald 3 

Having won by toil and pain 176 

Heart, my heart be strong A. Werner 87 

He does well, who does his best 276 

" Heimgang ! '' so the German 

people say 156 

He IS the freeman who the truth 

makes free Cowper 118 

He looks abroad into the varied 

field Cowper 103 

He who died at Azan sends. Edwm Arnold 229 

Hide thee awhile, call back the 

troublous past Amelia E. Barr 191 

Homeward the swift-winged sea- 
gull takes its flight 119 

Hope in our souls is king Longfellow 118 

How dark this world would be. . . Thomas More 94 

How many of us have ships at sea. Florence Grover 184 

How shalt thou bear the cross that 

now Faber 84 

Humility is the base of every 

virtue Bailev 85 



I am going away, dear friend Susan Archer Weiss 261 

I cannot see with my small human 

sight 19 

I do not know the deadly depths 

within M. Woolsey Stryker (6 

If as we dream in every radiant 

star N. P. Willis.....* 255 

If by our toil another's feet may 

rise Laura B. Boyce. . . .104 

If for a time some loved one goes 

uway A. D. F. Randolph 233 



290 Snbcx of irirst £ines. 



AUTHOR. PAGE. 

If I must win my way to perfect- 

nes3 J.G.Holland 211 

If indeed Thomas Burbidge 18 

If thou impatient do let slip thy 

cross Ugo Bassi's Sermon 222 

If you sit down at set of sun i8i ' 

I have a little trembling light, 

which still Henry Septimus Sutton 23 

I have a sin of fear Bishop Donne 137 

I have borne scorn and hatred 86 

1 have no moan to make Phoebe Cary 240 

I have some songs I do not sing. . Samuel Duflield 210 

I hear a voice ye cannot hear Tickell 266 

1 heard the trailing garments of 

the Night Longfellow 10 

I know a dark and lonely dell James Buckham 117 

I know not what the future hath. , Whittier 138 

I know not where thine islands 

lift Whittier 276 

I know the hand that is guiding 

me .- British Evangelist 28 

I know thy wondrous ways will 

end 206 

I mind the weary days of old A. D. F. Randolph. ..... 197 

In a far away land on a stone it is 

written 90 

In dreams that hold . F. W. Bourdillon 194 

In God ril trust 35 

In my right hand I clasp to-mor- 
row's grief Anna Temple 55 

In Poverty's dark cell I sit 108 

In the dusk of our scrrowftl 

hours Margaret E. Sangs ter 50 

In the throng .1- G. Holland ." 65 

In this cruel fire of sorrow Frances Ridley Iiavergal . . Q3 

In weariness I wait and pray '. . . . 120 

I remember best Amelia E. Earr 45 

I said one day, O life ! you're 

little worth Laura Garland Can 164 

I sit beside the sea Edna Dean Proctor 244 

I sit upon a cypress bough E. B. Browning 113 

Is not the night all dark. A. W. 

in "Cambridge Review." 121 

Is thy cruise of comfort failing ?. . Mrs. Charles 45 

I think we are too ready v/ith 

complaint E. B. Browning 43 

I thought to work for Him 214 

It is one thing to be tempted Shakespeare 75 

I tremble at the thought of 

heaven Ella M. Baker 134 

I trust in my soul. Ov/en Meredith 205 



3nhc% of first £ines. 291 



AUTHOR. PAGE. 

I trust Thee, O Father, Thy word 

can not fail Mrs. L. S. Mills 32 

It sometimes happens Sunday Afternoon 243 

It was a day of darkness and of 

doubt A.P.Miller 28 

I wait Mary Clemmer 207 

I walk down the Valley of Silence . Father Ryan 176 

I was sitting alone in the twilight. Mrs. Herrick Johnson 152 

I will ^o forth among men, not 

mailed in scorn Alexander Smith 81 

I would be joyful as my days go 

by A. D. F. Randolph 20 

Known only, only to God Alfred H. Louis 15 

Know that his dear children can- 
not die 232 

Labor ! all labor is noble and holy . Frances S. Osgood 105 

Laborare est orare Miss Mulock 102 

Late on me weeping did this 

whisper fall Henr}'- Septimus Sutton 60 

Leave God to order all thy ways. George Newman 133 

Let us be like the bird. Victor 

Hugo, translated by Edwin Arnold 130 

Let us be patient with our lot Josiah Moodv Fletcher 100 

Life we have been long together. Mrs. Barbaufd 274 

Like a thorn in the flesh, like a fly 

in the mesh Ella Wheeler 56 

Lo ! amid the press Susan Coolidge 148 

Look above thee, never eye Eowring 265 

Lord, according to Thy words. . .. Georpe Macdonald 170 

"" Lord, a little,' little longer ! ". . . Miss Mulock 223 

Lord, be mine this prize to win . . H. F. Lyte 72 

Lord, if I dip my cup into the sea 150 

Lo ! the marvelous contrast of 

shadow and light Edward Dean Rand i-- 

My heart grows strong Duke of Brunswick .... 67 

My soul complaineth not Winkler iS 

My wine has run indeed out of 

my cup E. B. Browning. 104 

'Neath some shadow oft I wait.... John Ordronaux 68 

Never on the clear bright billow.. Augusta Harvey Worthen.. 69 

Never think of me as lying Phoebe Gary 276 

No bird-song floated down the 

hill Whittier 

No evil ! But behold, how temp- 
est tost ! S. W. Weitzcl 14 

No light ! we say Edmand C. Stedman 29 

No strain . loj 



292 3nbc% of irirst £ines, 



AUTHOR. PAGE. 

Not all who seem to fail have 

failed indeed 105 

Not in vam do we Frances L. Mace 275 

Not so hopeless, drooping spirit. . Horatius Bonar 45 

Not to forget when pain and grief 

draw nigh Henry Septimus Sutton 201 

Not yet, O friend ! not yet Bret Harte 9 

Now I need not fear for Ihee Paul Gerhardt 238 



O black and bitter night Adelaide George Bennett ... 24 

O, don't be sorrowful, darling Rembrandt Peale 17 

O God, O kinsman loved, but not 

enough Jean Ingelow 74 

Oh ! blessed are the dead Eliza Mary Hamilton 249 

Oh deem not they are blessed 

alone Bryant 86 

Oh, our Father, our Father. A. 

Werner in "The King of the 

SilverCity.'" 121 

Oh, the temple of the soul, of 

what tiny stones 'tis built 174 

Oh ! tried heart Mabel 93 

Oh weary heart of the toiler William Byrd Chrisholm ... loi 

Oh,what will be that life to come ? G. W. Crofts 270 

O little bird ! that all the weary 

day Ada Gale 116 

O Memory, ope thy mystic door. . David Gray 199 

On a far shore, my land swam far 

from my si^ht 274 

Once in the twilight of a wintry 

day Emily Huntingdon Miller. . 237 

Once pain beat upon my heart. . . Ella Wheeler 208 

One day at a time ! every heart 

that beats Helen Jackson iH. H.) 156 

One of these days it will all be 

over 185 

One summer day to a young child 

I said 147 

On every morrow are we wreath- 
ing Keats 49 

Open the Western Gate Amelia E. Barr 143 

O soul of mine, when tasks are 

hard and long 59 

O sudden blast, that through this 

silence black Miss Mulock 217 

Our course is onward, onward 

into light Trench 46 

Our prince has gone to his inheri- 
tance Julia C. R. Dorr 232 

Our very perils shut us in Anna Letitia Waring 130 



3xibcx of iFirst Cines. 293 



Out of the sunshine warm and 

soft and bright Anon 30 

Over the narrow foot-path Ptiargaret E. Sangster 15S 

Over us, patient and changeless 

and far Frances L Mace .3 

O weary hearts that languish Adelaide George Bennett 48 

Pain's furnace heat within me 

quivers 220 

Plan not, nor scheme, but calmly 

wait Macduff 128 

Raise it to heaven when thine eye 

fills with tears Frances Kemble Butler 55 

Reach down the wanderer's staff. Frances Kemble Butler 267 

Restless, restless speed we on William C. Gannett 22 

Rise up, sad one, and outward 

cast Adelaide George Bennett 26 

Roll on, O earth ! roll on and 

swing Edwin S. Hopkins 61 

Saying " There is no hope," he 

stepped Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 252 

Sec how the far east brightens !. . Tr. from Fouqu^ by Andrews 260 

Seek not to know 27 

See the Lord, thy keeper, stand . . Charles Wesley 137 

Serene I fold my hands and wait. John Burroughs 148 

Shsll one who does God's image 

bear A.J. S.in N. Hampshire Poets 106 

Shall we sit idly down. From 

" Morituri Salutamus "... . Longfellow 186 

She said I am come to heaven at 

last Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 264 

She shut the door and turned 

away 254 

Should bereavement's heavy 

shadow 232 

Shut in with tears that are spent 

in vain 123 

Silence and darkness, solitude and 

sorrow 22 

Softly sing the love of Jesus 8a 

So let us die 265 

Some comfort when all else is 

night Alice Gary 200 

Some day or other I shall surely 

come Louise Chandler Moulton ... 172 

Some souls cut* off from moorings 36 

Sometimes I am tempted to mur- 
mur Margaret E. Sani^stor. .... 150 



294 3nbc% of iFire t Cities. 



Sorely tried and sorely tempted . . 

From " Masque of Pandora ' '. Longfellow 74 

Sorrow and silence are strong 

From '* Evangeline " ... Longfellow 115 

Souls that of his own good life 

partake Henry More 238 

Speak to us out of midnight's 

heart Lucy Larcom in "January " 12 

Still alway groweth in me the 

great wonder Alice Gary 250 

Strange, strange for thee and me. Phoebe Gary 253 

Strong are the mountains, Lord, 

but stronger Thou 129 

Summer days "B. M." 194 

Sum up at night what thou hast 

done by day George Herbert 192 

Take unto thyself, O Father 54 

Tempted in all points like our- 
selves J. G. Holland 77 

Tears are not always fruitful Horatius Bonar 59 

Thanks for the benediction of thy 

love Hester M. Poole 187 

The birds have hushed their 

chorus A. M. in the "Quiver ". ... 13 

The Border lands are calm and 

still 207 

The child leans on its mother's 

breast 21 

The clouds may rest on the 

present Phoebe Gary ^ 39 

The coiled elastic spring of steel . E. E, Adams ' 168 

The cup of my years was nlling. . J. H. M 161 

" The days are all alike ■" she said ■. 182 

The earth, O prisoned soul, is 

thine 120 

The faint, lov/ echo that vve hear. Adelaide A. Proctor. ...... 184 

The hands are such dear hands. . . N. Y. Independent 157 

The happy dreams that gladdened 

all our youth 199 

The heart grows richer that its lot 

is poor Lowell 106 

The helper of his mother M. Woolsey Stryker 99 

The little flowers breathe sweet- 
ness out Sarah Williams 23 

The Lord knoweth when each hot 

tear floweth G. Z. G 219 

The Master e'er His work was 

done Mrs. Luther Keene 109 

The moon v/as pallid but not 

faint Longfellow 87 



Mribcx of -first Cines. 295 



AUTHOR. PAGE. 

The night is come ; like to the 

day Sir Thomas Browne 163 

The past is mine and I take it all. Phcebe Gary 75 

There is a grandeur in the soul 

that dares Sara J. Clarke 128 

There is always sunrise some- 
where 46 

There is no soul but has some 

deep regret A. P. Miller 197 

There's many a rest on the road 

of life 183 

There's not an hour but from 

some sparkling beach Helen Jackson (H. H.) 255 

There was a time when meadow, 

grove and stream Wordsworth 195 

The same old baffling questions. . Whittier 206 

The sands of time are sinking 272 

These saddened years W. R. Cochrane 47 

The shady nooks and corners Margaret E. Sangstsr 172 

The stars are in the sky all day. . . Susan Coolidge 39 

The sadden joys that out of dark- 
ness start Longfellow 198 

The sufferer sings— his end is 

near . . Tr. from Schmolke by . Gurney 275 

The things over which we grieved 

with lashes wet 192 

The waves they are wildly heav- 
ing Alice Gary 259 

The way is long, my darling Margaret E. Sangster 179 

They are poor that have lost 

nothing Jean Ingelow 1^2 

They never quite leave us Margaret E. Sangster ... 247 

They only the victory win 71 

They who have learned to pray 

aright 207 

Think ye the notes of holy song. , Whittier 1^5 

This leaf, this stone, it is tny 

heart • 205 

This shall please Thee, if devoutly 

trying Johann Heerman 67 

Thou art my God Henry Septimus Sutton 37 

Thou who hast so long pressed 

the couch of pain Bryant 224 

Through black waves and stormy 

blast Susan Coolidge. . .21 

Thy gifts sustain Christian Register 104 

Tired ? Well, what of that ? 58 

'Tis all I ha Vf- -smoke, failure, 

foiled endeavor George Macdonald 81 

'Tis the bold who win the race 127 

Tossed on temptation's sea 76 



296 Mnbcx of JFirst Cities. 



AUTHOR. PAGE. 

Turn the Past's mirror backward. Miss Mulock 273 

Unto Him who washed us R. M 267 

Unto the hills I lift mine eyes 124 

Upon the sadness of the sea R. W. M 5 

Up, up, the day is breaking Paul Gerhardt 21 

Vital spark of heavenly flame ! . . . Alexander Pope - 269 

We are waiting. Father, waiting Hayes C. French 33 

We ask Thy peace, O Lord ! Adelaide A. Proctor 96 

We, ignorant of ourselves Shakespeare 49 

We need not die to go to God 166 

Were there no night we could not 

read the stars Henry Burton 119 

We see by night's sweet showing. Alex. R. Thompson 10 

We shall be like Him, strange the 

story Harriet Chase 165 

We shall not die until our work 

be done '. 157 

We should live as if expecting. . . Josiah Moody Fletcher 144 

What a strange Being holds me in 

his might Charlotte Fiske Bates 139 

Whatever God does is well Schmolke 106 

What else remains for me ? 84 

What foe can injure me ? Lyte 129 

What is that we call death ? Increase N. Tarbox 266 

V/hat matter how the winds may 

blow A. D. F. Randolph 151 

What profit to lay on God's altar. Margaret J. Preston 212 

What tears in your eyes, my 

beloved! Mabel 161 

What though before me it is dark. British Messengers 31 

What though the web our hands 

shall leave undone Laura B. Boyce 211 

What though we grope and 

stumble m the way Laura B. Boyce 66 

What to shut eyes has God re- 
vealed ? Whittier . 243 

When all the weary toil with 

which we wrought Laura B. Boyce 85 

When doomed to feel that youth 

is o'er 201 

When sins and follies long forgot 130 

When sorrow's darkest night Julia D. Peck 163 

When the sad soul in weariness. . Joseph W. Sutphen 83 

When the song's gone out of your 

life 44 

When you see a soul set free Phoebe Cary 233 

Whether winds blow foul or fair 108 

Why art thou full of anxious fear. Paul Gerhardt 108 



Sxibzx 



of JFirst £ines. 



297 



AUTHOR. PAGE. 

Why forecast the trials of life 180 

Why should we do ourselves this 

wrong 147 

Why that look of dark dismay ? . , Arthur C. Grisson 138 

Why weep yc for the falling Alice Gary 277 

Will it be alwavs night? Nettie Vernon 29 

Workman of (jod, Oh, lose not 

heart. " Songs of Devotion " 127 

Would that I too were lying Jean Ingelow 246 

You have said that God is just . . . J. G. Holland 38 




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